


Rats and Sinking Ships

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Boys in Chains, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-26
Updated: 1999-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 49,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek follows his orders to trap Mulder too closely and winds up caught himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rats and Sinking Ships

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be my last slash for a while. I'd love to hear what you thought of it and the other two. Thanks to Olympia who has been this story's godmother from its very first scene.

The rat stepped on the trap cautiously, but the instant it took the cheese the heavy trap snapped shut and Krycek barely controlled the shudder as the detestable creature squeaked like a bath toy and then started its death throes. He backed up carefully; not liking the very unsubtle hint the man watching the broken body of the rat just gave him.

It took a long time for the rodent to die. He almost considered pulling his gun out and shooting it, but that would have ruined part of the message. "You said he got away?" the cigarette man asked, opening up a new package. The cellophane made the same crackling sounds the minor bones in the rat had made.

"It happens," Krycek said, trying to be calm. It had happened too often lately. They needed him. Not enough to make him think he was invaluable, but they needed him. He touched his cheek carefully, where Mulder hit him the last time. It made him hard to think he was the only person who could make Mulder explode with such passion. He looked up again and saw the indulgent smile on the cigarette man's face. Every time Krycek showed up with new bruises or cuts the bastard took pleasure in running his knuckles over the purple skin. The mocking questions followed, asking him if it was good enough, long enough or hard enough to satisfy. Krycek lip jerked. The cigarette smoker would have been more than willing to make up the difference. It was one of the main reasons Krycek was still around despite screw-up after screw-up. There might come a day when he'd let the old man fuck him to keep alive, and he'd happily do so if that was what it took, but not before then, and not for anything less than his life.

He glanced at the lifeless body now ridiculously lumped into two halves with the thick bar. Even rats had their standards. The man continued to smile at him, again indulgent, and for the first time Krycek began to worry. The smoker kept toys under thumb; he indulged dead men.

The door opened again, and the main light flicked on. The room was in half darkness, and the bright light made him want to step back. A new man entered, and Krycek only glanced at him once before dismissing the man as an accountant. His hair was lank over his wide forehead, and mouse brown hair. The black rim glasses made the washed out blue eyes look bigger.

"What do you think?" the smoking man asked.

Krycek backed away as the accountant approached him. Not that he was intimidating at all, but he didn't think the smoker would let him kill. The accountant went to touch his face with his skinny, cold fingers, and Krycek caught the wrist to break it.

"Alex," the smoker said, warningly. Krycek kept his hand over the wrist for a second, contemplating the consequences for allowing his nature to surface, but then decided it wasn't worth it. He let the man go. All through it all, the accountant's heartbeat hadn't increased. There was no fear over his wrist. He wondered what kind of numbers this accountant crunched.

The accountant lifted Krycek's chin, studying it carefully. "He's a bit young...and his chin a little weaker than it should be. But you say Mulder's expressed interest before?" he asked, not addressing Krycek at all.

Nor did the smoker respond to the question. It was probably all in a file somewhere, carefully recorded. The 'Alex gets beat again' file. He wondered how thick it was, and the thought made him smile. He forgot himself, and the accountant nodded. "He'll do," the accountant decided.

"Good. He's yours. Teach him. Congratulations, Alex, this is your wet dream assignment. Good luck," the smoker said, and left them alone.

  
The mickey mouse locks on the apartment made him respect Mulder just a little bit more. He still would have gotten in if the man had bought top of the line, but this way it saved them both a little extra time. His back still ached from the beating, but he didn't think he would start bleeding again until Mulder pushed him around. He lay down on the couch on his belly and waited for Mulder to come home.

The key turning in the lock woke him up. He stretched as best he could without moving his shoulder muscles too vigorously, and pushed to his feet as Mulder glanced at him from the doorway. It took a moment for the shock to register and then disperse enough for Mulder to act upon it. Krycek did nothing as Mulder crossed the floor, grabbed him by his leather jacket and threw him against the wall. He hit hard, feeling as if he landed on a pincushion, and groaned in real pain. He could feel one or two of the scabs break open and start to ooze again through his nice, white T-shirt. Bloody hell.

"What are you doing here?" Mulder demanded, ramming him up against the wall again. "Answer me."

"Stop scrambling my brains and I'll try," Krycek said, and winced as Mulder backhanded him. He could taste the blood in his mouth, but rather than reaching out to touch it he gripped his hands behind his back. "There now. Make it easier on you. One more and let's talk," he said.

"You'd think that would stop me," Mulder said. The hazel eyes were still furious. The back of Mulder's fist caught him on the jawbone, and he collapsed down to his knees with the pain. "Wrong. What the hell do you want, Krycek?"

Krycek didn't get up. "Are you done?" he asked, not looking up. He could feel his T-shirt sticking to him from the rough treatment, but Mulder couldn't see it with his jacket on.

"For now, but I reserve all my rights," Mulder said, backing away slightly. Krycek grabbed hold of the couch to pull himself up, and deliberately let Mulder see the purple rope burn that chewed his wrist above and below the delicate bone. He waited until Mulder saw it before jerking the sleeve back over it.

"You usually do," Krycek said, daring Mulder to say anything about what he had just seen. Mulder looked away first. "Here," he said, thrusting the file on him. When Mulder almost had it, he deliberately let it fall to the floor. The pictures fell out, and the most harmless looking scientist's photo spilled out with names, dates, and spreadsheets.

"What's this?" Mulder demanded. Krycek went to step over it, but Mulder caught his arm. "Krycek, what do want from me?"

Krycek pulled away, pretending to be disgusted at the touch. Now he had Mulder's attention. "Read it. It's fascinating, right up your alley. There's enough in there to keep him locked up for generations."

Mulder skimmed it. There was enough about illegal gene research and human cloning in there that it drew Mulder away from the fact that it was *him* standing in the middle of the room. Now the tricky part...if it didn't work the beating was for nothing. He brushed past Mulder. "See ya," he breathed. Mulder balanced the open file with one hand and grabbed his jacket with the other.

"Where are you going?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek pulled against his jacket, but Mulder held tight. "What's the matter, Mulder, don't you want another deep throat?" he asked, scanning his eyes down Mulder's body. Mulder pulled him back harder, and with a twist of his shoulders Mulder stood holding the empty leather. He left; knowing there was no way Mulder wouldn't see the bleeding strips that had soaked through the thin T-shirt.

The accountant glanced at him in the car, and put a hand on his knee. "He see you?" he asked. Krycek hadn't asked his name, nor had the accountant volunteered it. It helped while the man had tied him up and whipped him, wanting to mark him violently. He even had ligature marks over his ankles, but there was no way Mulder would have seen them there.

"He saw me," Krycek said, and went to change the radio station. He grunted as a fist landed hard in his gut. He curled up around the pain, and the accountant put the car in gear.

"Don't bleed on my seat, Alex," the man said, mildly.

The pain was striking compared to the dark ache that came from his back and it seemed like a long time before he could breathe again, even though according to the clock on the radio only a minute had gone past. It had been a long time since he figured out that the man beside him wasn't really an accountant, but it was the only way he could strike back at the man. It would be one thing if he actually took pleasure in tormenting Krycek. If that were the case, Krycek would have some power as well. The accountant was so...clinical. He had taken a break during the beating to wipe his brow of the sweat that gathered, and took the time to drape the cloth he used over Krycek's arm before continuing. Even when he was exacting his blowjob...presumably to make sure he was good enough for Mulder, the man had sighed and actually turned the page of the file he had been looking at. 'A little more tongue, Alex.' 'Deeper to the back of your throat, Alex'. 'Relax and enjoy yourself, Alex.´ Krycek shuddered at the memory.

It finally didn't hurt to breathe. He straightened up; careful not to touch the back of his seat, and the accountant took his eyes off the road to examine his face. "A couple more bruises. Very nice. Was he happy to see you?" the accountant asked.

"Drop me off at home," Alex said, rubbing his face with his hands. The blow to his gut made him sick to his stomach and he just wanted to lie down and wait for his back to heal. He was a slut, and both of them knew it. Being in the same apartment with Mulder was a thrill. Having Mulder beat him, dominate him, humiliate him...the cigarette smoking man was right. This was his perfect job.

It excited him to think how unbreakable Mulder was. How Mulder could never sink to the level he was at right now. He was what he was because he had to be. Mulder would fall to where he was, and it turned him on that Mulder judged him for it. He shifted, jeans suddenly too tight and the drying blood on the T-shirt pulled at him.

  
Krycek left the accountant in front of his apartment, and went up to his apartment. He locked the door behind him and went into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. The bruises were darker now, and he could rub his fingers into the one on his jaw and the pain made his knees weak. He gingerly pulled off his T-shirt, feeling it rip more of the welts open, and he heard the door of his apartment unlock.

He pulled his gun and threw the bloody T-shirt on the bathroom counter. Half-naked he slowly opened the door to the bathroom, and saw the accountant carefully hanging up his suit jacket in the hall closet. "I changed my mind," the man said simply. "The bedroom, please, Alex. Now."

He considering objecting, but knew there was nothing he could say to stop it. He sighed, going into the bedroom, and the accountant sat down on his bed. The only good thing that could be said about his bedroom was that it was clean. There was nothing else in it besides the functional double bed, the cheap bedside table, and the dresser. Krycek hung by the door, not knowing what the accountant wanted, and he sure as hell didn't want to ask. They hadn't taken it past the blow-job yet, and he didn't want to take him into his body. "Lie down, Alex. Remove your jeans first, though," the accountant said, primly.

It was easier for Krycek if he didn't look at the watered down blue eyes wavering behind the glasses. He'd fuck anything to stay alive, and they both knew it. He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them off, and sat down before pulling off his socks. The air wasn't cold against his bare skin, but he hated being naked in front of a fully dressed person. It was giving up so much control. He lay down, tense and on his back.

The accountant didn't touch him. The man only moved closer to him, staring down at his body. "Think about him," he said in his wavering nasal little voice. "How hard did he hit you?"

"Hard enough to knock me down," Krycek said, almost bitterly. He'd prefer a real rape to this mind-fuck.

"Did you bleed?" the accountant asked. His breathing became faster and shallower. Krycek closed his eyes and the accountant allowed him to keep them closed.

"Yes," Krycek said. The worst part was he couldn't control the stirring in his own body. The perverseness of the situation and his genuine attraction to Mulder both worked against him. He didn't provide any more detail and it was apparent that the accountant required nothing else.

"Were you hard?" the accountant asked, staring down at his half-erection. "While he beat you?"

Krycek closed his eyes, and his hands moved unbidden to his belly. He stroked the skin there minutely with his fingers, and his heartbeat became louder to his ears. Why wouldn't this asshole either fuck him or get out so he could be alone with himself? "Not during," he whispered. Afterwards when Mulder held his jacket, and he could feel the agent's knuckles against his neck he had been. Remembering how it felt to be on his hands and knees in front of Mulder...he swallowed, rubbing the back of head against the pillow. One of his fingers brushed against his cock almost accidentally, and the pleasure from the contact poured over him. He almost whimpered before catching himself and pulled his hands away. The accountant beside him was starting to forget to breathe, but he couldn't hear any sign that the man was manually stimulating himself, and as long as the man didn't asked him to lend a hand Krycek didn't really care, either.

"You want him to fuck you, don't you. Fuck you like the bitch you are," the accountant whispered. The bed creaked and the weight shifted closer, but still nothing touched him but the man's hot breath. "Are you? Do you want to be Mulder's?"

"Yes," he hissed, hating himself. His fingers were now rubbing circles into his lower belly as if it could replace actually taking his cock in his hands. He could have so easily moved his hands down another three inches and gathered himself up, but he refused to.

"What will you do when he grabs your arm, Krycek. What will you say when he won´t let you leave? What will your mouth do when he kisses you for the first time?" Krycek's lips parted against his will at the thought, and still the accountant's voice droned on. "You want him, don't you? You want him to touch you? To run his hands down your chest, over your belly, tease your navel?" Krycek's body screamed for him to obey the voice. It hurt...It ached...he steadied his breathing.

"And what happens the first time he runs his fingers through your short little curls? When he gathers your testicles up and rolls them against each other. Would you like him to kiss you there first, or to the slippery tip of your cock, Alex?"

This was ridiculous. He shouldn't be denying himself the pleasure. The accountant wouldn't leave him alone until he obeyed, so he obeyed. The first touch was electrical. He ran the tips of his finger lightly over the delicate underside, and he could feel himself jump under the touch. The accountant's breathing quickened just a little more, but there was still no other sound of him. As far as Krycek knew the man still had on his slacks, and the only movement on the mattress came from him.

"Which one would you like kissed first?" the accountant prompted him again. "Alex?"

"Fuck, it doesn't matter," he hissed. Christ, even he had to torture himself. He gathered up his cock with one hand and his balls in the other. The immediate pleasure from just holding himself flushed through his body and he half lifted his hips off the mattress. Without any lubrication his hand was rough on the sensitive skin, but he was beyond caring. He thrust into his own hand, unable to stop the groan. He couldn't move fast enough to satisfy the blood rushing in his ears, and his gut tightened. He was so close. If only the accountant would shut the fuck up long enough for him to finish. He groaned again, letting the sound slip out between his clenched teeth, and he gasped. One more second...that was all he needed. The build-up crossed into pain as he felt his testicles tighten. Oh, yes.

"Think of me," the accountant whispered, as the first shudder passed through Krycek, and Krycek couldn't help but obey. It didn't rob any of the pleasure ache crashing over him, but it was enough to remind him of his situation. The accountant hadn't forced him to jerk-off; that was all on his own. The accountant leaned back, apparently satisfied, and then got off the bed. "Clean yourself up," the man said with apparent disgust, and left the room.

The apartment's door closed, and he didn't hear the key turning, but it didn't matter. He was too spent and too tired to get up and lock it himself. He lay flat on his bed, sweating and useless, trying to control his breathing. This was a new humiliation. He could almost convince himself that he deserved it. He was a slut.

  
Three days later, Mulder jumped to his feet as Krycek let himself into his apartment. The room smelled of Mulder, and it was warm. His jacket lay draped over Mulder's couch and the night was cold with only a T-shirt on.

Krycek stepped into the apartment and took the time to close the door behind him and lock it before Mulder could reach him and throw him against the door. He grunted in pain as Mulder pressed against him, grabbing a hold of the flimsy shirt and for a moment Krycek feared Mulder would strangle him by the double stitching of the collar not yielding to Mulder's attempted ripping. It finally split and he gasped for air as Mulder tore the shirt. Three days had healed most of the damage, but there were still thin scabs where the worst of the welts had been over his shoulder and across the small of his back. Krycek didn't fight as Mulder slammed him against the door one more time and then backed away. He didn't move, either.

"Who did that?" Mulder finally demanded when it was obvious Krycek wasn't going to speak. "Tell me."

Krycek finally turned around, pulling off the remains of the white T-shirt. "May I borrow another one?" he asked, dropping the rag. He went to go into Mulder's bedroom when Mulder grabbed him again by the shoulders. He winced, but carefully didn't fight.

"I asked, 'who did that?'" Mulder growled.

"You know who," Krycek hissed quietly, and saw the disgust in Mulder's eyes. This was never going to work; the accountant was wrong. That would almost be worth never having Mulder. He concluded that fucking the smoking man would almost be better than letting the accountant into his room again.

"He's dead. Dr. Owens blew up his lab and himself last night just as the judge signed the warrant. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Krycek?"

"If I killed Dr. Owens I'd be an up-turned pile of dirt somewhere no one would ever find," Krycek said, carefully removing Mulder's left hand from his shoulder. Mulder let it drop and removed the other one as well. "The shirt?" he asked. Mulder's eyes skimmed his body, and took in the other scars. Krycek fingered a particularly nasty knife-wound that almost punctured a lung and then ran his hand through his hair.

"What the hell happened to you?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek didn't answer. Instead he went into Mulder's bedroom and went through the drawers of his dresser until he found a T-shirt. Mulder leaned against the door frame, barring his way out. Krycek pulled the shirt on, and looked up to see his exit blocked. He half shrugged and undid his jeans enough to tuck the shirt in. "What do you think? I'm not expendable, Mulder, I'm disposable. I do what I have to."

Mulder crossed his arms over his chest. Krycek sat down on the bed and waited. The staring contest began, and Krycek made himself look away first, not wanting to blow his carefully scripted lines. "They hire out more than my gun, Mulder. Does that satisfy you?"

"And Owens--"

"Was a kinky bastard who deserved to die," Krycek finished. He looked up and then back down again, as if ashamed. He opened his mouth twice, but didn't continue.

"So you shopped him to me and let your bosses kill him rather than exposing his work," Mulder said.

"It was either him or me," Krycek said, staring at his boots.

"Like hell it was. A date goes wrong and you have him killed."

Krycek stood up. "It was either him, or me," he repeated. "If I refused they'd kill me, and I wasn't going to lie there and listen to the safety click off when it was inside me one more night. Don't judge me, Mulder. You have no idea where I'm coming from. Where I've been. So go back to your rat-race and deal with the fact that you've been used a hundredth of the way I'm used every single fucking day."

The stood less than a foot apart. Krycek met his eyes, and saw the anger, the betrayal, the disgust and the desire in Mulder's face. Krycek parted his lips and looked down again, bowing his head slightly in a submissive posture. He took an extra step so they stood together in the doorway. He could feel the heat of the other man, and saw the way Mulder's fists tightened with him being this close, and Krycek looked up, letting the vulnerability show. "Thank you," he whispered, soft enough that Mulder would doubt he heard him correctly, and then grabbed his jacket off the couch.

Mulder let him go.

  
Another week passed. Krycek spent most of the evening digging a grave for a body he didn't kill, and returned to his apartment sweaty, filthy, and stinking of death. The body had been dead for a while and only now they thought to get rid of it.

He had a shower to wash the smell off him, and threw out the shirt he wore. He heard the door open and close, but for once didn't even turn off the shower. He couldn't get the stink out of his nose and didn't want to stop scrubbing his skin. The bathroom door opened, and the rush of cold air touched him. He finished rinsing his hair and pulled the curtain back.

"Shave. You've got a date tonight," the accountant said, offering him a towel.

Krycek dried his hair and then knotted the towel around his hips. "I have tonight off," he said. The smoking man promised him the weekend for burying the problem. He hated being lackey boy to two different men at the same time.

The accountant didn´t comment, only went through his medicine cabinet until he found Krycek's razor. He withheld it, and took Krycek's chin in his hand. "I'd almost say leave the stubble on. Makes you more vulnerable; but if he wants you it might be a turn off," the accountant continued as if Krycek hadn't responded. The man rubbed his hand across Krycek´s jaw, roughly. Krycek turned away from the touch.

"Shave," the accountant decided. Krycek quickly took the razor before the accountant could shave him. That would be too much. The accountant removed his towel, looped it over the rack, and Krycek almost slit his own throat with the blade as the man kicked his thighs apart. "When was the last time you were fucked, Alex?" the man asked.

Krycek tensed as he felt the accountant press up into him. One finger slid inside him, and the friction hurt. He put the razor down, bracing himself for the assault, and the accountant slapped him on the ass for it. "I said shave," the accountant ordered. The finger pushed in past the second knuckle and he couldn't push it out. He took a deep breath and it pleased him to see how much his hand didn't shake as he reached for the can of shaving cream. He sprayed some on his palm, smearing it over his cheek. He took a deep breath and ignored the finger, now embedded in his ass. With the door open the mirror unfogged, and the accountant met his reflection. Krycek squared his shoulders, brought the razor to his cheek, and took the first swipe.

His control seemed to anger the man. The finger withdrew, and was brought up to his face. Krycek could smell himself on the finger, and his nose wrinkled in disgust, but he didn't say anything as the accountant gathered up some of the foam and brought his hand back behind Krycek. "When was the last time, Alex?"

He thought back. "Almost six months ago," he said, and then tensed, fighting the finger pressing against him, but with the foam it was too slippery to fight. The pain burned inside him, and he braced himself as the second finger forced its way inside.

"Shave," the accountant ordered again. "I don't like repeating myself, Alex, who was it?"

"An informant. It was nothing." It hadn't been. They barely had time to adjust their clothing before the guy was inside him. It was brutal, quick, and he didn't ask for anything else. He found out last month that he died a week or so afterwards, and Krycek didn't even ask if someone contracted it. The dead man hadn't been that good.

The accountant thrust his finger a little more inside him, and Krycek just grunted and gripped the razor. His hands only shook slightly. But he carefully angled his hips back slightly to make it easier for the accountant. It was either this or shave himself, and that would hurt, too. He took a deep breath and slowly began lowering himself back on them. The foam inside him hurt. He came to rest with both fingers inside him, and then pulled away. The accountant let him go, but carefully placed a hand on Krycek's shoulder as a warning. A second later a third finger pressed against him. Krycek bit his lip and forced himself back against it. He could ignore the ripping inside him from the man's carefully manicured nails, he could block out the stinging pain from the last of the shaving cream. But it was very difficult to ignore the accountant's eyes on him. There was a second where he couldn't take the third finger, but he grunted and forced it inside him.

"Just like that, Alex," the accountant whispered. He picked up the razor, and Krycek didn't move away as the man began shaving him using only the reflection to guide him. The fingers inside him stretched his passage out, and any second he expected to feel the slicing hot pain of the razor, but it never happened. The accountant left him clean shaven with only a few wisps of foam left in his face, and feeling empty. He straightened, and felt the burn in his ass. It was a great way to make sure he'd walk funny. "But we're still missing something..." he said, obviously thinking hard.

Krycek turned to grab the towel when the accountant grabbed his arm, and punched him just under his left eye. The pain exploded across his face, and he brought both hands up to protect himself, but it was too late, the attack was over. "Give yourself half an hour or so for the bruise to form," the accountant said, and smiled once again

Krycek looked away, unable to handle any more indulgence.

  
Krycek pulled up to Mulder's apartment and dialed the number. "Mulder," the voice snapped into the other line. Krycek hung up, only to dial it again a few moments later. "Mulder!" Krycek hung up again. The third time Mulder didn't even answer it.

A moment later Mulder tapped on the glass. Krycek unlocked the door and Mulder sat down beside him. He glanced up to the "Shut up" written in capital letters on a post-it on the windshield. Krycek put the car in gear and drove to a pub. Parking was a bitch, and by the time he found a spot he was in a bad mood. He got out of the car stiffly, and hated the way Mulder noticed it. His ass still hurt from the invasion, and he didn't even protest as Mulder grabbed his arm. He didn't have to see his reflection to know how badly his eye had darkened.

"Give me a break, Mulder," he said, staring at the sidewalk. "If you want to hit me can it wait until tomorrow?"

"I'm not going to hit you," Mulder said, and there was almost honest concern in his voice. He looked up, but went into the pub and led his way to an empty table. He sat down, not having to fake the soreness, and ordered a beer. Mulder sat down across from him and had the same.

"Don't go to work tomorrow," Krycek said, after the beers arrived and they were alone.

"Why not?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek looked up, but didn't answer the question.

Mulder stared at him, and looked away first. He used his fingernail to peel off the label rather than look up at Mulder trying to fit him into some stereotype. "What happened today?" Mulder asked instead.

Krycek gently placed the bottle over the bruise. "What always happens," he said, finished it and ordered another one. "Can we not talk about it?"

"No."

"Why not?" Krycek demanded.

"It leaves us nothing to say," Mulder said, smiling slightly. His hazel eyes glowed. Krycek almost forgot himself and stared. Mulder was imagining him with who ever made his ass sore and blacked up his eye. Krycek licked his lips, carefully, and looked up to meet his gaze.

"How do you do it?" Mulder finally asked, probably just to break the silence. Krycek had finished the second bottle in the interim, and ordered a third with a wave of his hand. Mulder still nursed his first one.

"It gets easier," Krycek said, bitterly. Easier, but never simple. "They don't start you off with the crazies. The more you piss them off..." he let his voice trail off, and then looked accusationally at Mulder without saying anything else.

Mulder understood. He nodded and looked back down. "Why do you do it, then?" he asked.

"Because I have to. You would have done the same thing," Krycek said. His stomach started to protest the amount of liquid in it, but he finished half of the third bottle before putting it down.

Mulder pulled away in disgust. Krycek's head began to throb, and the alcohol in his system heated his blood. He touched the bruise on his face and winced. Better under his eye than on the mouth. He hated loose teeth. Mulder still looked at him. He rubbed his face, tiredly, and then rested his hand on his neck. "Yes, you would have," he stood up, finished his beer, and put down the empty. "I need another one," he said, and then went to the washroom in the back.

Three beers in less than thirty minutes, and his head spun. He locked the stall door, holding himself up for a moment. He closed his eyes as he pissed, and part of him hoped it wouldn't work. He didn't want Mulder to bend to such obvious manipulation. He didn't want the accountant to be right. He finished, zipped himself up and washed his hands, drying them on his pants. The bruise hadn't caused much swelling, but the blackness around his eye would be there for about a week.

He took a deep breath and went back into the pub. The music was too loud, and he could feel it vibrate against the soles of his feet. He looked up and caught Mulder looking for him as he crossed the room. Mulder would definitely want to lead if they ever danced. Lead and step on his toes. He covered his mouth to suffocate the laugh, and made his way back to the table. He had to slow down a little. He had to be drunk for the next part, but he was a little too tipsy. He drank a swallow of the beer to get rid of the aftertaste in his mouth, but that didn't work. The smoker crafted the dialogue to entangle Mulder, but Krycek still felt filthy from the accountant's assault. Krycek shook his head to clear it; wallowing in the contrived self-pity was too easy for him.

For a while, Mulder seemed content to sit and watch him drink, but eventually pushed away from the table. "Give me your keys," he ordered.

Krycek lifted his head, staring at Mulder for an instant. The man looked edible, actually, even with his tie loose and his late night stubble. "Huh?" he asked, stupidly.

"You're in no condition to drive."

Krycek leaned forward, resting his head on the table, sobbing out a laugh. "Are you going to arrest me, Mulder?" he asked, shaking his head. After all the things he'd done...to be charged with DWI was quite funny. The world started to spin a bit faster than he had anticipated and he realized that he´d thrown up most of his supper digging the grave for the dead guy. He stood, took a step, and stumbled. He hadn't intended to get this drunk.

Mulder grabbed his hips, catching him before he fell. Krycek righted himself, but Mulder wouldn't let him go. The hands over his jeans warmed him, and for an instant he leaned back against the man. Mulder's body was hard against him, and he barely stopped himself from rubbing himself against Mulder like a cat. He let himself sob, once, and then broke away.

"Come on," Mulder said, finally. Krycek let himself be guided out into the car and waited for Mulder to unlock his door before slipping inside the car and resting the back of his head against the seat. Panting helped dispel the drunk a little.

Mulder drove to Mulder's place and parked in the visitor's parking. Krycek watched dispassionately as Mulder snapped the motor off, pocketed the keys, and motioned with his head. "Come on," he said again.

Krycek fumbled to open his door. He leaned forward and almost fell out of the car. Mulder came around the car and Krycek let Mulder help him inside and onto the couch. Krycek closed his eyes, and almost dozed off. When he opened his eyes again Mulder still stared at him. "Are you going to sell out the guy who did this to you, too?" Mulder asked, going to touch his eye.

Krycek flinched away. "No," he said quietly. "He likes to knock me around and fuck me, but then he sobs like a baby for an hour. Him, I can control."

"And Owens?" Mulder asked quietly.

"It was different," Krycek closed his eyes again, moving his jaw. He moved himself back, feeling Mulder's arm on the back of the couch. He turned blindly to it, rubbing his cheek against it. Part of it was to complete his assignment, but a very small part of him really wanted the comfort. He was weak, but his cover story was becoming closer to his real life than he wanted it to. He was drunk, alone, and just a little horny. Two out of three he could handle. Two out of three was normal for him. Having all three, and a man as curious as Mulder in the room...Krycek shook his head again. That's all it was. Curiosity. Mulder wanted to know if he was like any other guy. Krycek could work it into more, but first he had to get down on his knees. He wondered what Mulder would feel like, what he would sound like, and ran a finger around his lips thinking about how Mulder would taste. Sweet, he'd imagine.

Mulder moved closer to him, just an inch. Krycek pulled back for a second, then leaned against Mulder's length. The heat ran down his spine, and for a moment all he wanted to do was sit still and breathe in everything about the other man, from the slight sweat the deodorant put on that morning couldn't cover anymore to the cigarette smell brought back from the bar. Krycek felt Mulder move to kiss his neck, and Krycek threw himself off the couch.

"No," Krycek said, grabbing his jacket. Mulder opened and closed his mouth twice, not knowing what to say. Krycek threw open the door, and went downstairs. He hailed a cab as soon as he was ready. If the accountant knew what he was talking about Mulder was almost his. He suddenly despised Mulder for being as weak as he himself was.

  
The next day Mulder didn't look all that surprised to see him on the couch, nor did he give more than a cursory glance towards the three smashed surveillance devices on the coffee table. "Forget something?" Mulder asked, crossing his arm over his chest, leaning against the wall.

Krycek stood up and went to him, and stopped only an inch away. He chewed on his own lip, for a second, and then hesitantly took Mulder's hand in his own. He opened the unresisting fingers, staring at the palm for a second before kissing the ball of his thumb. Krycek didn't look up, but he could hear Mulder's intake of breath. His tongue snaked out, and traced out the heart line on Mulder's palm. He kissed Mulder's wrist, feeling the pulse quicken under his lips. He looked up, and smiled when he saw Mulder's lips parted.

For a moment they just looked at each other, and then Mulder drew in another breath to speak. Krycek pressed his finger against Mulder's lips. They both understood. Krycek smiled, briefly, and then dropped to his knees. Mulder jumped back, slamming his shoulders against the wall, but there was no escape possible.

Alex´s fingers deftly undid the belt of Mulder's slacks, and then the zipper, still expecting Mulder to push him back. The slacks fell down to Mulder's knees, and Krycek helped him lower them down to his ankles and step out of them. Mulder put a hand on Krycek's shoulder to help take the pants off. And he loved the way Mulder's fingers worked over his collarbone. Mulder stroked him like a cat, following the muscles on his shoulder. Krycek stopped moving for a second, straining against the caress. Mulder laughed, and touched his chin, clucking at him.

Krycek smiled, and went to kiss his thigh, but Mulder pushed him away as if he suddenly realized what he did. Krycek went too quickly. He jumped to his feet, backing away slightly, but put his hand on Mulder's thigh, running up and down for a second to settle the nervous man. "Relax," he whispered calmly. "Please, Mulder. Tell me you want me," he begged. Mulder went to touch the bruise, and Krycek let him touch the purple blackness under his eye. "Please," Krycek whispered.

Mulder lifted his chin again. Krycek closed his eyes and winced, showing he expected Mulder to hit him, and then felt Mulder's lips kiss him, gently. He didn't have to fake the surprise. He jerked back, and Mulder took a step forward to make up the difference. Mulder kissed him again, this time more hungrily, and Krycek backed away a bit more until he fell backwards on the couch. Mulder followed him down.

Mulder's hands held his face still, kissing him a third time. Krycek parted his lips to speak, and Mulder's mouth covered his own. Krycek pulled back, stretching out on the couch and Mulder moved over him, warm hardness that poked at him. His own heart raced, but he had to stop it.

"Mulder," Krycek began, trying to crawl out from under him.

Mulder pressed a finger against his lips. "Hush," the man whispered.

"Mulder, no, stop," Krycek said quietly around the finger. "I'm serious. I'm not safe."

Mulder's eyebrows almost touched, and then realization hit. He half sat up, and Krycek was able to push to his elbows. Mulder was also breathing heavily, and Krycek began to worry that stopping the process might have ended it. Mulder stood up, without a word, and went into the bathroom.

Krycek pushed up, throwing his head against the back of the couch. Mulder wasn't coming out--he blew it. Or he hadn't blown it, which was the problem. If he wasn't so desperate he would have laughed. Instead he enjoyed the tight feeling of his jeans against him, for a moment, and stood up. He just slung his jacket on just as Mulder came back. They stared at each other for a moment. Krycek stepped back for a second, surprised to see him, and then dropped to his knees in front of Mulder so as to not give him a second chance to get away. He ran his hands up Mulder's belly, kneading the man's cock through his shorts. He could feel it grow as Mulder closed his eyes and groaned.

Krycek pulled down the shorts, not hearing any objections, but he kept his motions hesitant out of the expectation. He was quite proud of his blow-jobs, actually. Even though he was the guy on his knees with another man's hands in his hair, but he had most of the power. There was nothing so pathetic as hearing a man pray to God for Krycek to hurry up. There weren't many men...the accountant being the exception...who could refuse him anything during a blow like that. Mulder, obviously was one of them that couldn't. He lifted Mulder's cock out of the way, taking a moment to rub it against his cheek and enjoy the silky touch before he worked on the balls. He suckled them, and teased them with his tongue until Mulder's breath caught in his throat. Krycek kissed each one

delicately, loving the salty taste, and then brushed his teeth against the sensitive skin. Mulder shuddered at the potential pain, and then groaned as Krycek reached up and sucked on a finger before pressing it inside Mulder. Mulder jumped at the invasion, but didn't try to get away. He waited until he found the right spot. Christ, Mulder was hot and tight inside. One day he'd fuck the shit out of the man, but for today he was Mulder's prize.

Krycek noticed Mulder kept his hands by his sides, balled into tight fists. Mulder's face twisted in pain; eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed together, eyebrows almost touching. Krycek cupped the testicles in his free hand and then carefully worked his lips down the cock, working his tongue around the head. He wished he had a third hand, but brought Mulder into his mouth and swallowed around the cock. Mulder groaned again, and then grunted as Krycek withdrew from his ass.

Mulder opened his eyes and looked down at him. Krycek didn't get off his knees, but shuddered as Mulder stared at him. He wondered if Mulder had ever fucked a guy before. The accountant swore he had, but he began to doubt it. Mulder or not, Krycek didn't like the idea of a virgin fumbling around inside him. He had enough pain with the accountant after him all the time. He was about to stand up and help when Mulder pulled him to his feet. For a moment they stared at each other--Mulder's hazel eyes searched his face and Krycek kept it as innocent as possible for the scrutiny, all the while maintaining lazy strokes to work on the erection. Mulder neglected Krycek's own, even though it was just as needy. This was just an assignment, he could jerk off after hours if need be.

Mulder reached up, pressing his thumb against Krycek's lips already slightly swollen from the blowjob. He almost winced, and covered it by running his finger across Mulder's cheek. Mulder was trying to understand him again. He couldn't wait for the man to realize it was hopeless--there was nothing left inside of him for Mulder to get to know. Nothing except for the words provided for him, the emotions faked, and the hurt in his eyes that had nothing to do with what Mulder thought it did.

Krycek closed his eyes, taking a moment to push himself away from the pain. He replaced it with the thought of Mulder's lips around his own cock...he rested his arm against Mulder's shoulder for support. It had been too long since someone had taken care of him. They stared at each other a moment longer, neither one willing to start the kiss again, and Mulder turned around, leading him back to the couch. Krycek knelt down on it, turning his head. Another day on his knees at the office. Mulder move behind him, and Krycek turned his head. Mulder was a such a fool. He was blind and egotistical to think all Krycek needed was a good fuck to get him away from his life of crime. It was just a job, he reminded himself of that again. Mulder couldn't know that and he couldn't forget it. He sighed, and Mulder mistook it for passion.

"Hold on," Mulder whispered. There was a moment of fumbling as Mulder rolled the condom on, and Krycek half turned, catching Mulder's wrist, not caring how the question could be took. He wasn't in any mood for more pain. "You've...done this before, haven't you?" he whispered.

Mulder nodded, and a moment later Krycek felt him press up against him. The jelly was cold on his skin, and he took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles. Mulder pushed inside him, slowly, inch by inch until he could feel the man's chest press up against his shoulders. "Okay?" Mulder asked in his ear. His breathing was harsh, but once he fully buried himself he gave Krycek a chance to adjust to the width.

Krycek nodded, breathing in. If Mulder continued this one-sided, Krycek tried to start it one handed. He tried bracing himself with only his right arm so he could reach his own cock with his left, but his arm started to shake the second he tried it. He swore, feeling pathetic, but knew enough not to ask Mulder to touch him. This wasn't about him, or his pleasure. Mulder began moving against him, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until Mulder's thighs were slapping his ass. His own forgotten cock hardened a little more, and now it was painful. Krycek grunted, once, and then threw his head back as Mulder finally remembered him and gripped his cock with a hand still slippery from the KY. His stomach tightened, his knees ached and he couldn't buck hard enough to make the hand do anything more than just hold him.

So...Mulder was like every other man. Krycek shouldn't have expected anything more. Krycek was a whore, and Mulder knew it. And there was only one way to fuck a whore. Krycek moaned once instead of begging for Mulder to move against him, to touch him, to make him feel wanted if not loved. It made it easier.

Mulder started to grunt in time with his thrusts, gripping him harder with his one free hand. The other one finally moved against him and he came, unable to stop himself. Just the feeling of the slick fingers against his starved skin...Christ he was easy. Mulder came as well, and collapsed over him. The man must have gotten off him some time later and thrown a blanket over him, but he woke up a couple of hours later still drenched in sex sweat. He sat up, feeling woozy, and rested his head in his hands. Mulder wasn't in the apartment, and he suddenly didn't want to be there when the agent returned. He got up, got dressed, and got out.

  
His apartment was unlocked, but he was past the capacity for actual surprise. The immediate attack knocked him to his knees. He was tired and sore, and his defenses were down. The accountant kicked him hard in the gut, and Krycek fell to his elbows. The accountant wanted him like Mulder wanted him, and they both couldn't stop hurting him. He turned his head, wanting to vomit. He coughed, hard, and couldn't breathe to replace the emptiness. It wasn't fair. His lungs remained deflated, and he wanted to vomit. "You even smell like him," the accountant snapped, and grabbed the back of his jacket, hauling him to his feet. The accountant was stronger than he looked, actually.

Krycek tried to pull away, but the accountant held on and marched them to the bedroom. "He fucked you, didn't he?"

"You told me to," Krycek protested. It sounded almost like a whine to him, but he didn't want to get hurt, not after the evening he´d had. He didn't protest as the accountant pulled off his jacket. He relaxed as the man fumbled with the catch of his jeans, but couldn't stop the yelp as two fingers slammed into him.

"You didn't even wash, you slut," the accountant said. Krycek swore he could hear amazement. "Did he come in you?"

Krycek had enjoyed the slippery feeling, but now it just made him sick. But he suddenly realized it wasn't him. The accountant had a thing for Mulder. It even made him smile; he finally found a chink. Not that the accountant noticed the change in him. Krycek groaned, thrusting his hips back onto the finger fucking him. "No, he wore a rubber," he whispered, making himself grimace. It made it easier to debase himself, to wince in only half make believe. He could do this. The accountant would belong to him even if the only bond they had was pain.

The accountant stopped for a second, his disappointment was that great in Mulder's concern for his health. The weight on the bed shifted, and without being told Krycek got up on his hands and knees. He kept his head bowed while the accountant adjusted himself, but stopped long enough to make sure the latex was in place. No one was paying him to die.

And then the accountant fucked him. Krycek zoned out for most of it, not that it took all that much time. The man was neither large enough nor violent enough to make it memorable. After all the weird shit the accountant had done it was anticlimactic, at least for him. He made himself grunt as if out of pain, and the accountant finally groaned. Krycek pulled away, and the slack hands on his hips let him go. It was over. The accountant left the room dressing himself and Alex heard the door open and close. He waited a moment to make sure the man wasn't coming back before getting off the bed. After he showered he made himself a sandwich and went back to bed.

  
He woke up the next morning, and his newspaper lay on the floor wrapped in a blue ribbon. The smoker wanted to see him again. Shit.

  
They waited for him. Krycek stood in front of the door and stared at the four men staring back at him. All of them kept going back to his black eye wondering who he got it from. For the first time, though, they asked him to sit down. He paused, not enjoying being thrown off so much, and sat down in the offered chair. The accountant wouldn't look at him. So. The man never intended to fuck him. He almost smiled at that, and wondered what would happen to his keeper once the smoking man found out about the weakness. He would find out about it, just...not until Krycek could think of how to use it to his best advantage.

"Alex?" the smoker finally asked, snubbing out his cigarette. "Report."

Krycek raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking for a blow-by-blow?" he asked, refusing to be ashamed of it. They wanted him to ensnare Mulder, Mulder was ensnared. They wanted him to use his body to do it, he fucked Mulder. If they wanted to hear how the sweat trickled down Mulder's forehead as they screwed he'd share that information as well. The smoker smiled, making the wrinkles more pronounced. Krycek cocked his head, trying to determine if he'd be a kisser or not. Probably not. Of course Krycek could always luck out and give the old man a heart attack half way through. "Just gloss over the details, Alex," he said, faking the disinterest very well.

"He fucked me. What did you want to hear, gentlemen? Did he come? Yes, he did. Did I come? Oh, yes, thank you for asking. Did we exchange loving promises of eternity? No. Not yet. If you want that you need to give me at least a week."

None of them laughed. Krycek wondered if they knew that was supposed to be funny. He'd need at least two weeks for that level of commitment. "Thank you, Alex. You may go."

He stood up.

***

Mulder stopped as soon as he saw Krycek sitting down in front of his door. "What are you doing out here?" Mulder asked, finally from down the hall.

"It didn't seem right any more," Krycek said, pushing to his feet.

"What didn't?"

"Going in there without you."

"Developing a conscience, Krycek? You'd better come in and lie down. The feeling will pass."

Krycek smiled, and without thinking reached out and touched Mulder's cheek. Mulder didn't look shocked at the contact. Krycek almost took the next step before remembering they were still in the hall. He stepped back, allowing Mulder to unlock the door. He didn't give all that much room, though, and Mulder had to reach around him to unlock the door. He didn't move as the door swung open, and Mulder had to step up next to him. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Mulder just laughed and entered the apartment. Krycek followed him in and shut the door.

"Want anything to drink?" Mulder asked, moving through his apartment.

"Mulder, stop puttering and come here," Krycek said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You are supposed to be lying down. I don't think I can handle you with a conscience," Mulder said, bringing back a beer. Krycek ignored it, going to him instead.

He put his hand on Mulder's shoulder, and Mulder glanced down at it for a heartbeat. Krycek kissed him gently, not wanting to startle him. Mulder slipped his hands under Krycek's jacket, pulling up his T-shirt from his jeans and ran his hands up Krycek's bare back. "Mulder, let me..." Krycek tried, pulling back from the kiss, but then Mulder's hands slipped down from his back to the front of his jeans and began kneading him. "Where did you go after you left here?" Mulder asked, rubbing his palm against Krycek's cock. The friction almost burned him, and Mulder let rest both hands on Mulder's shoulders to keep from buckling under the caress.

"Home," Krycek hissed, closing his eyes. He would have started purring, and Mulder didn't seem to mind him moving against the hand.

Suddenly Mulder's hand tightened. Not enough to be painful...but enough to ruin the euphoric high that was developing. Krycek's opened his eyes and tried to back away, but Mulder followed him until he pressed Krycek's shoulder blades against the wall. "Where did you go?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek didn't risk angering Mulder further by trying to remove the hand, but he was furious at himself for misjudging his situation so severely. He honestly believed Mulder bought the cover story. "Home..." he stammered. "Mulder, please. I--"

The hand went back to its silken manipulations. "There now," Mulder whispered, kissing his cheekbone. His lips felt like feeding goldfish. "That wasn't too difficult, was it?"

Krycek's entire body felt sweaty. "What was?" he asked, dully.

"Telling the truth. Now comes the reward."

Krycek suddenly gave thanks his back was already to the wall, because a moment later his cock was all the way down Mulder's throat and there was no way he could have supported himself. Just that it was Mulder on his knees in front of him without any power struggles or secret dealings...taking him into his body with no reservations...Christ it had been too long since the last time sex was anything more than a means to an end. He wasn't kidding himself; this wasn't love. Yet. But he had to be careful.

He closed his eyes again, for once not thinking at all. And Mulder let him forget. It was easier to be able to stand so exposed when he didn't have to concentrate on who was on his knees in front of him. Reduced to its first and basic level...Mulder gave great head. And at that moment of his life, he wanted absolutely nothing else. Heat, tightness, the muffled sounds of sucking and a very willing tongue...it was more than enough for him.

He knew he should have stopped it before he came. He reminded himself again that this wasn't about him, but for once he was able to silence that part of his mind and enjoy the orgasm as if he was yet again a normal person with rights and freedoms. It took a while for the last of the pleasure to leave his body, but by the time Mulder got off his knees and helped him down to the couch he remembered who he belonged to.

And it wasn't the gorgeous creature sitting next to him on the sofa. Mulder's hair had gone slightly spiky, and he would have licked it flat again like a cat if Mulder allowed him to. Mulder's hazel eyes wide trying to read something from him and Krycek gave over a lazy, well-satisfied smile to help him. "Thank you," he drawled, and then leaned up against Mulder again. This time Mulder only put his arm around his body and switched on the television.

There wasn't really enough room for both of them on the couch, but Krycek still managed to doze while Mulder watched daytime programming.

Krycek woke up a couple of hours later, feeling Mulder's half woken cock press up against him. His first thought coming out of the sleep grogginess was that Mulder never gave him recovery time, and then Mulder's hands moved against his belly and he realized he didn't want any He shifted slightly to let the other man know he was awake and willing, and then slowly began rocking his shoulders against the erection.

"You've been out for two hours. Don't you get enough sleep?" Mulder asked in his ear. Krycek reached up and stroked his nose. Mulder smiled as well, apparently amused.

"Who sleeps?" Krycek asked, flipping around to his belly. He glanced away from Mulder's face long enough to undo his slacks and slip a hand under the shorts. "What's on?" he asked, glancing to the television.

"Nothing that important," Mulder turned it off. Krycek thought about extracting a minor punishment for almost hurting him earlier, and then decided to be the bigger man and let it go.

"What were you thinking about?" Krycek whispered, lowering his head slightly and ran his tongue around the head of Mulder's cock. Mulder's entire body shuddered at that. "Watching me that long?" he asked. He really wanted to know. He was in danger of loving Mulder because Mulder was everything he wasn't, but he couldn't understand the attraction on Mulder's part. What was it--his inability to keep to one bed, his battered body, or his triple agent lifestyle that made him irresistable to Mulder?

"How innocent you look asleep," Mulder said, obviously not reading Krycek's mind. Krycek shuddered and then stretched out along Mulder's body as Mulder ran a hand up his belly, over his chest and then delicately worked up his throat to his face. Mulder's fingers stopped on his chin for a second, before tracing a line over his mouth.

Krycek pulled away from it. "I haven't been innocent for years," he said, but could barely stop his lip from trembling. He came here to squeeze Mulder and all of a sudden Mulder was his father confessor. He viciously went down on Mulder's cock to stop the line of questioning. When Mulder had a full and aching hard-on he looked up again. "And neither, apparently, have you, so can we just fuck?"

This time Krycek came prepared. He rolled on the condom, lubricating it, and slipped down to the floor on his hands and knees. It wasn't his favourite position, but he didn't have to look at the man fucking him and it helped him deal with the lack of control. Mulder further demonstrated his lack of innocence by coating two of his fingers with the oil Krycek brought and spent time working them inside Krycek, gently loosening the ring of muscle. For all the times he had sex to get what he needed, he still wasn't all that well used. Most of the time he hated anal sex, and would just blow the guy. Usually that was enough. Between the informant, Mulder and the accountant that had been it for him in the past year. But now he found himself flushing at all the places he hadn't made love to Mulder even in Mulder's cramped apartment. He stopped himself, almost getting off the couch. That was how he thought about it just then. Not fucking. Making love. He actually thought about it as making love. Christ, he was sick.

Mulder withdrew for a moment and then moved up behind him. Krycek breathed out, heavily, but when Mulder entered him there was no pain, and the slight discomfort didn't last long. Krycek stretched his shoulders as best he could and sighed. If only he could get that warm, slightly yielding fullness without having someone over him. He trusted Mulder. Maybe not with his life, but with the fact that Mulder wouldn't casually hurt him for sport anymore. It was almost enough.

Mulder gave him another second to finish getting used to him. Mulder kept his weight off him, and he could reach down his own body and take his cock in his fist. He liked it best like that, where he could control the contact to make it last longer. Mulder's hand wrapped around his, for a moment, asking permission. Krycek let go and Mulder's fist kept in time with the thrusts. Mulder kissed him again, on the back of his neck. They didn't speak, which made it even more wonderful.

And then his telephone rang from his jacket. Krycek collapsed down to his elbows, swearing, but Mulder caught his hips, not letting him pull away. "Leave it," Mulder managed. His broke with the exertion, and Krycek almost whined in protest. He tried to yank free, and then groaned as Mulder pulled him back and impaled him further.

"I can't," Krycek said bitterly. He tried moving away, but Mulder wouldn't let him. "Get off me, I have to get that."

Mulder only started fucking him again. Krycek fought, suddenly feeling trapped. By the time he broke free the phone had stopped ringing. Krycek swore again, snatching his jeans from the floor.

Mulder grabbed his wrist. "Come back here," he ordered. Krycek was about to pull free, when he remembered his assignment. He sat down on the couch, and a moment later Mulder joined him. Krycek pulled off the condom, sunk to his knees, and slowly, teasingly, took the cock in his mouth. Mulder arched his shoulders, putting his hands on Krycek's head and drove him deeper. Krycek didn't fight, and Mulder obviously mistook the experience for eagerness. Mulder groaned and whispered Krycek's name before coming. Krycek caught the semen on his tongue, keeping it there.

Mulder was either unwilling or unable to stop him this time, because he left without anything said. The accountant's car waited for him just behind his own. He let himself in. The man was furious, but when he turned to yell at Krycek, Krycek took his face in his hands and kissed him.

The accountant started, and tried to jerk away, but Krycek held him firm and transferred the contents from his mouth into the accountant's. The man swallowed it, and then licked Krycek's teeth clean. Krycek slouched back into his seat but the accountant didn't drive away. "Why pull me?" Krycek finally asked, switching radio channels. This time the accountant allowed him to.

"Your assignment has changed slightly. You should be advised of that."

"So you come here, interrupt me...working, and expect him to take me back, no questions asked?" Krycek demanded. The man was losing control of the situation, and it was beginning to disrupt the plans. And if the plan failed, Krycek knew the smoker would blame him for it.

"Take you back, yes. Ask questions? We're counting on it. And you will provide the right answers, too. Poor unfortunate Alex...forced to do the worst of the smoker's grunt work. And he knows what kind of grunt work you do most often. He'll try to save you, and you'll let him. And as soon as he is willing to trade anything of his for you, let us know."

"This couldn't wait until later?" Krycek asked, almost bitterly.

The accountant stared at him, probably deciding if he needed to be hit or not. Krycek winced, anticipating the worst, but then the accountant put the car in drive and drove to an all-night diner. Krycek nursed his coffee while the accountant ate a late night hamburger. Finally the man glanced at his watch, and wiped his mouth. "I want a coffee. Go outside and wait for me. You'd be better for this next part cold."

Krycek paced by the car for almost half an hour. Even with his jacket on he was cold by the time the accountant finished his coffee. "That should be enough time. Come on," the man said.

Krycek followed him back to the car. Round two. He was tired, cold, and just wanted to go home and sleep. Instead he knocked on Mulder's door and pushed past the half asleep man. "Back so soon?" Mulder demanded, voice annoyed.

Krycek went into the bathroom, and started to run a bath. He couldn't stop the shivering, even though the apartment felt warm. "Don't," he said, simply.

"Don't?" Mulder grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. "Don't, Krycek? Who was it?"

"You don't want to--"

"Say that to me one more time, Krycek, and I'll--"

"You'll what?" Krycek demanded, pushing Mulder back for the first time. "Hit me? Like that's never happened before. You want to hit me, Mulder, go on and do it. Please," Krycek snapped. The words hurt, and Mulder stepped back like he was the one threatened.

"No?" Krycek asked, and Mulder looked away first. "You don't want to know and I don't want to tell you, so can we just not mention it again?" Krycek saw the way Mulder looked at him. He wasn't angry at Krycek for fucking around, Mulder was angry at whoever forced Krycek into it.

"Why did you come back here?" Mulder asked, running his hand through Krycek's hair. Krycek closed his eyes, the warmth of the hand heated all the way down his spinal cord and then radiated out. Why had he come back? Partly because it was where the accountant dropped him off. But he didn't want to be alone, either, and that the emotion Mulder felt for him came from lies and twisting truths didn't matter to him. It was real emotion. Mulder cared about him. Enough for Mulder to get jealous at least, and hate himself for it.

"Because I didn't want to be alone right now," Krycek whispered, but not for the reasons Mulder thought. "If you don't want me, I can leave." He hunched his shoulders, waiting for the rejection. Slightly hoping for the rejection. Craving it. He knew he wasn't worth it, and he also hated himself for hating himself. Mulder made him feel safe, even though he knew Mulder couldn't protect him from anything.

Mulder moved up to him, helping him with his T-shirt. "You´re cold," Mulder whispered, and apparently enough had been said about where he had been.

Krycek removed his jeans and stepped into the water. It scalded his skin for a moment until he accustomed himself to it. Mulder knelt down next to him and began scrubbing his shoulders. Krycek closed his eyes, absorbing the heat and Mulder's proximity. Time for more half lies and half-truths. He gave himself an extra moment where the only sounds were their combined breathing and the occasional drip from the tap. His body felt heavy, tired, but the exhaustion cleared his mind and he was thankful he had at least this time with Mulder. "Why?" he whispered, breaking the silence first.

"What?" Mulder asked. He moved closer to Krycek, but still not touching. Krycek realized he didn't want Mulder to answer the question, so he changed the subject. Mulder let him get away with it.

"I wasn't lying when I said I followed your work at the academy," Krycek said instead of asking why Mulder let him in. "I did. But...I believed the wrong guy and a worse one waited to catch me. It would have been better if I had fallen, but it was just such a tiny, little step. I took it. The next step was even smaller, and all of a sudden...I was way past my head and I couldn't get out. So I did what they wanted, who they wanted, and...eventually convinced myself I wanted to do it."

Mulder's hands stopped on his shoulders. Krycek went to get out of the tub but the hands held him down. "I understand," Mulder whispered in his ear.

Krycek tried to shake his head. The smoker and the accountant had carefully scripted his lines, but they were close enough to the truth. "Do you?" he asked.

"You made a bad choice. It's time to stop paying for it."

"Thank you, Ms. Landers. But my bosses are not the kind of fellows that happily let you break your contract and let you walk away. Mulder...Mulder...please. Accept it. Accept the fact that I have to answer my phone. I have to leave sometimes. And I'll come around at strange times cold and bruised," he drew his knees up and hugged them. Mulder sat down on the edge of the tub, and Krycek moved so that he could put his head on the man's lap. Mulder stroked the back of his neck like a cat, and then rested his hand on the top of Krycek's head. //Would a sob be out of place?//Krycek wondered, and decided it would. He should be able to deal with it better than that. He pulled away. "I have to wash my hair," he said, dumbly. Mulder let him go.

He didn't feel ready for sex, and Mulder didn't need him, so they slept like spoons on the couch for the rest of the night. It was odd, but welcoming. Krycek slept all night and didn't wake until Mulder moved. "Don't take this the wrong way, Krycek. I have to go to work."

Krycek yawned again. "Yeah, I suppose I should, too," he said, pushing to his feet. His neck hurt and he stumbled back into the bathroom trying to find his jeans. Mulder met him at the door afterwards, already dressed. "When will you be back?" he asked.

Krycek turned around, smiling slightly at the concern in Mulder's face. He reached out and brushed out an imagined wrinkle on the suit's lapels. "I don't know," Krycek said. "Today, tomorrow, as soon as I can," Krycek suddenly looked down. "Will I be welcomed?" he asked, quietly.

Mulder lifted Krycek's chin with his palm. "Depends how many people you kill between now and then."

Krycek saw the smile, and returned it. "How many is too many?" he asked.

"Two."

Krycek scrunched up his face as if thinking really hard about it. "Is that two being the limit or one over the limit?" he asked, seriously. He could wake up every morning with this man and be happy. It was an...odd feeling. He didn't know if he liked it.

"Two's the limit," Mulder allowed graciously after thinking about it himself for a moment.

"Fine. Two it is, then. Tyrant," he said. Mulder's grip his face tightened and drew him into another kiss, but this one was much more needy and demanding. Krycek parted his lips, and Mulder fitted his hip right against his groin. Krycek rubbed up against it desperately, but Mulder pulled away from him. "Come back under your limit, Krycek," Mulder said, running a hand across Krycek's cheek and left him.

A moment later he heard the apartment door, but he couldn't move. He put a hand over his groin, squeezing slightly, begging his body to take control again. This was not good. He straightened up, finally, and cursed himself for being so weak. He was here to wrap Mulder up, not the other way around. When one touch bowed his body to that degree it was time to step back and distance himself.

It was ironic that Mulder taped a spare key to his door with a note that said "use me" on it, because when he returned to his apartment, his door wasn't locked. He pushed it open, throwing his keys on the counter. They skittered and fell off. "Why do I bother locking it?" he called, and then saw the ashtray on his table. Oh, shit. The door to his bedroom opened, and the smoker motioned him in.

Krycek followed him. The smoker waited until he stepped inside the bedroom before he grabbed Krycek's wrist and twisted it behind his back. Krycek slipped to one knee, trying to keep his arm unbroken. "Is there something you wanted to tell me, Alex?" the smoker asked, mildly.

Krycek tried to think back, but there had been nothing he had done in the past couple months to anger the smoker like that. The smoker pulled his arm a quarter inch. Krycek cried out as the pain split him. "What do you want to know?" he sobbed out. He'd confess to anything at that moment, and they both knew it.

The smoker let him go. Krycek fell to the other knee and gingerly held his broken wing to his body. The pain traveled from his shoulder blade to his fingers, and even holding it still hurt. He heard a lighter flick and air pass through a cigarette before catching fire. "Alex?" the smoker asked, gently.

Krycek climbed onto his bed, "I don't know what you're talking about," he said quietly. The pain started to dissipate, and he moved his shoulder gently. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. He straightened up.

"No?" the smoker threw a video cassette on the bed beside him; he hadn't seen it before. It was blank except for the white label on the spine with the day before yesterday's date. Krycek glanced around his room, trying to find where the video camera had been. There wasn't one that he could see. It hadn't occurred to him that they had his room under surveillance as well. "Do you enjoy watching me sleep?" he asked, throwing the video back at him.

"It's not you, it's who you are sleeping with, Alex. I had to know where your loyalties are. The reason you are still alive is that you didn't have a choice," the smoker took a long drag and brought the cigarette to the bed. Krycek pulled away, suddenly afraid, and then steadied his breathing. Men burned him before; it wasn't about the pain. It was about the helplessness. He shifted around, not trying to get away. "What angers me, Alex, is that you tried to withhold this from me. What were you hoping for, boy? A chance to use it to increase your standing? This isn't your poker match, Alex. You're just an ace, not a player. Hold out on me again and I will have you removed."

"You won't do that," Krycek said, still staring at the burning cigarette, only now it had a quarter of an inch of ash on the tip. He looked up. "I'm in, it would take you months to put another operative where I am right now, if it were even possible," he said, standing up.

And was knocked down again. The back of the smoker's hand caught him on the cheekbone, just below where the accountant hit him the other day. He cursed, putting a hand out to steady himself while he heaved up to his knees.

The smoker delicately placed his shoe over his stretched fingers. Krycek tried to yank away, but the instant he tried, more weight came down over them. "You are the weapon, Alex, not the shooter. You do not act unless I tell you what to do, where to do it, and who to do it with. When you breathe, I know how much air you displace. Don't presume to tell me anything."

Krycek tried again to pull his hand free, and tried not to imagine the sound of all the bones in his hand make if they snapped all at once. The shoe came down just that much harder, and Krycek bowed his head. "Weapon not shooter, tell me what to do, worthless. I got it. Get off me," he said quietly. "Please."

Amazingly, the smoker listened. Krycek flexed his hand, surprised that all the fingers still worked, and then the smoker flicked ash onto the back of his hand. "One more thing, Alex. Put out your pinky out."

Krycek looked up, wanting to slip his hand up and out of sight like a small child caught stealing. He opened his mouth, trying to decide if begging would be worth the humiliation, and realized it wouldn't make any difference. He put his hand back down and stretched the pinky out. The smoker placed almost his full weight on the single digit. Krycek grunted in pain, not looking up. "Do I have your full attention?"

Krycek nodded, not trusting himself to speak without saying anything pathetic. His shoulders tightened, preparing for the pain. He took a deep breath, and managed to distance himself slightly. "You have it," he managed.

"Good. I have removed your operative. He involved himself too deeply, and I can't afford it screwing this up. From now on you will report directly to me, owe your obedience to me, do you understand?"

Krycek blushed. He couldn't help it. Despite everything he had done, he still had shreds of residual modesty that remained, even after all the shit that he waded through. He looked down. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

The smoker put his hand on Krycek's head, but unlike Mulder, it was pure possessiveness. "Alex, I didn't want to remind you of this...but you owe me. You slipped, I caught you."

"I remember," Krycek whispered. Of course he remembered. Sources lie all the time, and senators have very powerful friends. Implicating them in wrong-doings was career ending suicide. If he had been a more experienced agent he might have seen it, or if he had been more of a man he could have taken the repercussions and start over. But it had been so easy to let the smoking man come in and make everything all better again. He had no idea how much he would still be paying.

"Good. Don't forget it, Alex. Not now, not ever."

"No, sir," Krycek whispered. He crawled the extra foot, and kissed the smoker's knee. The man jerked back for less than an instant, and then the hand was back over his head. "Keep reminding yourself who you belong to, Krycek, for your sake."

The smoker left him on his floor. Krycek had mundane things to do that day; even rats had to pay their telephone bills. After he was alone, though, the only thing he could do was crawl into bed and sleep, aware of how close he had come to being that plot of dirt he feared the most.

He woke up to the sound of rain beating against his window. November rains were always the coldest. He had a long shower and dressed before going down to his car to find something to eat.

He heard the foot steps in the parkcade, and instantly begun to worry. He didn't like footsteps when he couldn't see who made them. He took his gun out of the holster and chambered it, letting it echo around the concrete pillars. A warning. The footsteps didn't heed it. And unless the echoes tricked him-- three of them came.

"We don't have to do this," he called, and the footsteps stopped. Krycek ducked behind the hood of blue Grand Am and the first bullet tore it up. Damn, not in his apartment building. He'd have to move again. Now he was pissed. They ran at him, and Krycek dropped to his belly. He shot the first one in the ankle, and the body crashed down. One of the remaining two stopped at the body, the other one didn't. He'd be around the car in another instant. He pulled himself under the car, rolling through an oil patch, and cursed silently. He heard the footsteps stop, looking for him, and he inched forward, aiming. The bullet entered the gunman's belly and continued traveling up. One.

The second man was more cautious. Krycek gave his position away, and the second man hid behind one of the pillars between a dark blue Nissan and a red Honda. Neither one of them could get a clean shot. He saw the tip of the man's nose peek out, and shot at the pillar less than an inch away. Pieces of concrete flew off and became shrapnel. The man cursed, clawing at his eyes, and Krycek shot him while he reeled back. Two.

The first man had stopped bleeding, inches away from where he lay, but Krycek put his hand in the pool of blood. It had already started to cool, but was still warm to the touch. He swore, jerking away and banged his head on the undercarriage of the car he hid under. He slid out from under the car, gun held ready. The injured man stopped crawling away as he came around. Krycek stepped over the blood smear that trailed behind him. "No one else has to die," he said, watching the shoulders of the last man, waiting for the sudden motion.

"It doesn't work like that," the man said, stiffly. His shoulders trembled.

"I don't want to kill you," Krycek tried one more time. "Who sent you?"

"I am not going to tell you that," the man said, even though they both knew. The accountant had been removed. It hadn't been a voluntary thing. There was no code word for people allowed to walk away; they didn't need one.

"I was afraid of that," Krycek said. He waited for the man to go for gun before shooting him at the base of his spine. The body convulsed, once, and then died. Damn. One over. He glanced down to himself bloody and filthy, and knew he couldn't go back to his apartment. There were other safe houses he could have gone to, but that wasn't where he drove to.

Mulder looked at the blood first. "It's not mine," Krycek said quietly. Mulder hadn't moved from the doorway, moving from the bloodstain on his shirt where he had tried to wipe off his hand to the oil, dirt and grim that pretty much covered him.

"How many?" Mulder finally asked, meeting his eyes again. Krycek moved his mouth, wanting to explain what had happened, but knew he couldn't. He shouldn't have come. He turned to go, but Mulder put a hand on his shoulder. "At least tell me if it was business or personal, Krycek."

Krycek turned back to him. "Self defense," he said, not wanting to explain himself. He refused to feel guilty over it, but his assignment almost forced him to. Mulder would not accept a lover who didn't feel repentant...so he repented. "They came after me. I had to do it. I did it. I hate it, but wasn't going to let them--"

"Who was it?" Mulder interrupted his apology, having heard enough. Krycek glanced up. He expected to eat a lot more crow than that.

"I don't know," he lied. "Men with guns don't stop to answer questions," he said. Mulder touched his shoulder and Krycek jumped away.

"What's wrong?" Mulder asked, quietly.

Krycek shook his head. "It always makes me nervous," he said, going into the bathroom. Mulder followed him in, and Krycek discovered he wanted to be followed.

"What does?"

"Gunfights," he looked over to Mulder, who didn't say anything else. Krycek thanked him silently for it, and then exhaled quickly before stripping off the filthy T-shirt. Mulder took it from him, but Krycek snatched it back. "Don't," he said, quietly. He was exhausted, but the training kicked in.

Mulder glanced down to the bloody handprint, "Physical evidence?" he asked, quietly.

Krycek balled the shirt up, but kept it around his fist. "Just...never mind, Mulder. Please," Krycek asked.

Mulder moved up behind him and kissed his shoulder. Krycek bowed his head, "Can it wait until after I shower?" he asked, feeling meek. Part of the aftereffects of almost dying. To most of the people he...worked with it made them feel hyper-alive and god-like, but he...it never worked like that on him.

Mulder read his mood--part of the advantage of having a psychologist for a lover--and led him to the shower. Krycek closed his eyes as Mulder guided his head to the water. He was so warm, and the heat prickles started to dart across his body. Mulder worked his fingers across his scalp, and Krycek's knees almost buckled. It was the first time any man he slept with made him feel anything that intense without actually touching anything below the waist.

"I am going to fuck you senseless," Mulder whispered, "But for right now, you are going to have to settle for this."

The tiles were cold against his shoulders as Mulder knelt down in front of him and took him in his mouth. They weren't trying for finesse, or even very many style points. Mulder tightened his hands on his hips every time his nose ticked Krycek's belly. Mulder's throat was no more warm than the water pouring over them, but it was so much more tight and hungry. The muscles in his thighs knotted to the point he was afraid the tendons were about to snap. Part of him wanted to grip Mulder's head and force himself faster and deeper down the willing throat, but most of him wanted to be used as Mulder wanted to use him.

He suddenly couldn't breathe as the heat made his body uncomfortable. He started to sweat, but with nothing to cool him down it just made him more anxious and over-hot. It almost triggered a panic attack. He pushed Mulder away, but it didn't help. The steam in the air made breathing difficult, and he suddenly had to get out or pass out. He pulled the shower curtain away, and jumped out of the tub and ran into the main room.

Mulder followed him, also dripping wet, but carried a towel with him. He draped it over Krycek's shoulders and guided him to the couch. "Do you want to talk about it?" Mulder asked, moving next to him gently to not startle him.

Krycek pushed him away anyway. "No," he said. The cold air helped him calm down.

Mulder let the conversation go, but held onto Krycek's shivering body. The water on their skin made the coupling slick and frantic. Mulder obviously knew when to shut up and fuck, because he pushed Krycek off the couch, and took a moment to roll the condom on. Krycek began to love the sound of a package being ripped open. Mulder, the smart man he was, had begun to keep all the essentials under the couch just in reach. They started to fuck with the steam still rising from them..

And that was all it was. Mulder snaked his arm up and over Krycek's and then pressed down on his neck so hard it forced Krycek to keep his head almost between his elbows to keep his neck from breaking. Their skin, still wet, chilled quickly, and the frantic slaps of Mulder's body against the back of Krycek's thighs and ass soon became uncomfortable. He didn't care. "Fuck yourself," Mulder ordered, voice strained.

Krycek lowered himself down to one elbow, and used his free hand to jerk himself off. He squeezed his eyes shut, more than willing to stay like this forever, but Mulder already started to shudder against him. One final thrust and Mulder fell over him, pressing down on the back of his neck so hard he almost voiced a protest. Mulder realized what he was doing and let him go, but clamped down on his hips hard and held Krycek still as he came.

Krycek had to let himself go to support the extra weight, and the agony of his body and its pain almost made him sob. Mulder didn't stay long over him, and stood up off the floor. Krycek stiffly sat up over his haunches, but hugged his body rather than say anything about his need.

Mulder left him alone, and Krycek refused to disgrace himself by asking for anything, but Mulder returned with a bathrobe and a towel. Without saying anything Mulder wiped him clean of the excess oil and then wrapped the robe around Krycek's shoulder. Krycek looked up for a second, not knowing what to say. The robe was red and thick and smelled of Mulder, and he shivered deeper inside it. He wrapped it around his body, and was almost convinced he knew what was happening. He said nothing in case he was mistaken.

Mulder guided him back to the couch, and unwrapped the robe wide enough so that he could use his hand on his erection. Krycek wanted to close his eyes like he always did and enjoy the sensations in the privacy the darkness gave him, but he couldn't look away from Mulder's eyes. They were so wide, so accepting, that it made it impossible to separate from the rest of his body and concentrate on the sex. Mulder never used anything other than his hand, but the orgasm shook him so badly all he could do was curl up around the other man who rocked him gently to sleep.


	2. Rats and Plagues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krycek begins to realize he deserves better, but can't get out. Nasty things happen to him.Rats

"Alex. So good to see you," the smoker said, and the false warmth in his voice made Krycek shiver. He went into the office and sat down without being told. A video played behind the smoker. Krycek stared at it dispassionately as he saw Mulder making love to him. He licked his lips, once, and then turned his head. He remembered that night--they had just come back from watching a movie and Mulder couldn't wait until the door was unlocked. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but was only two weeks.

"Turn that off," he said, not wanting to remember. It hurt too much to see that much trust in Mulder's face.

The video switched off. "It wasn't one of my favourites, any way. Mulder didn't have that completely concentrated look he gets as he's ramming it inside you. Could he have been tiring with you already? He almost seems distracted by something."

Krycek stared at him blankly. They had been distracted. The audio hadn't copied, but they were trying to recite nursery rhymes to make it last longer. The smoker let it drop after Krycek refused to say anything else. Krycek went back to staring at his hands.

"Come with me," the man demanded, sounding like he lost some of his patience. Krycek glanced up cautiously, judging how much danger he was in, and decided there was no real trouble yet. He annoyed the smoker, nothing more. The man stood up and Krycek followed dutifully behind him. The office had a back door Krycek had never noticed before. Inside was an executive washroom. "Take off your clothes."

Krycek did so. The smoker hadn't tried touching him since the last time, but Krycek didn't want to get beaten again for not being able to excite him. He stood patiently as the man took his time going through the drawers to find what he was looking for. He kept his face expressionless, but the panic trebled. He barely could control the shudder.

A disposable enema kit. Krycek closed his eyes, but turned around and placed both hands on the counter. The smoker filled the bag with water from the cold tap, and then he put a hand on the small of Krycek's back to steady him. The nozzle worked inside him without lubrication, and then he felt the bladder start to empty inside him. It was cold, just above frigid, and he had a hard time keeping his muscles tense. He didn't know what the smoker would do if he spilled some of the liquid, but he knew he never wanted to find out.

Krycek groaned, as the slightly pleasant feeling became too heavy and painful. He bowed over the counter a little more, but it didn't help. For fuck sake, how much was the bastard putting inside him? He didn't think he could hold that much inside him. He started to sweat as he fought the need to open his body. It cooled him down and made it easier, but it still hurt. Eventually the nozzle twisted out of him and the smoker held him to the cold counter with his hands. "Another minute and you may go."

Panting didn't help. Krycek squeezed his eyes shut and hoped for death, but then didn't know how much dying from a ruptured colon would hurt. Finally the smoker released him. Krycek made it to the toilet and hugged his body, as he couldn't hold back the disgusting water a moment longer. The smoker stared at him again, but Krycek didn't let it bother him. It took a lot of work, though. Krycek could ignore his anger but he couldn't make it go away. The humiliation was the same way.

He finished, cleaned himself, and stood up. The smoker motioned him back in place, and shoved a finger inside him. Distended from the water and numb from the cold, Krycek hardly felt it at all. The smoker went searching again, and came back with a tube of KY. Krycek held his breath, waiting for the beating, but the only thing stuck inside him were two tar-stained fingers that were smeared a gob of the jelly inside him.

Krycek let himself wince to appease the smoker. "What do you want from me?" he asked, keeping his voice flat.

The smoker continued as if he hadn't said anything, but Krycek saw him smile over Krycek's display. The game continued. Krycek held his breath as he saw in the mirror the switchblade come from the smoker's pocket, but rather than pushing the little silver button and bringing the blade out, the smoker shoved the hilt inside him. Krycek jerked as the metal entered him, irrationally expecting the smoker to fuck him with the blade. The smoker pressed a finger against his opening, but was apparently satisfied that anything less than a full cavity search would reveal the knife.

Krycek let himself into the warehouse. "Freeze," his contact said. Krycek raised his hands slowly, and let the briefcase fall from his hand. A man with a gun motioned him over to the wall.

Without being told to, Krycek assumed the position and said nothing as he was frisked. It was a very thorough search, but the man took especial care over his groin area. Finally Krycek had enough of being groped and put his hands over the man's. "I'm easy, not cheap," he said, squeezing the hands. This wasn't making love; this was somebody fucking him. Mulder hadn't changed that much about him.

The man backed away. "How much?" the man asked, breathing heavily.

"Five off the top," he said. The suitcase on the floor had twenty five thousand dollars in it, and Krycek saw him glance to it as if in thought.

"Deal," the man finally said, licking his lips. "Strip."

"Password first," Krycek said, crossing his arms.

"Afterwards."

Krycek shook his head, and went to move to the case on the floor. "You are not the only man we can get it from," he said.

The man stepped up between him and it. "Gerbils. Now take off your fucking clothes."

Not exactly the most romantic thing any one had ever said to him, but he stripped nonetheless. The man went to push him down on his knees, but Krycek pushed him away. "Just a second," he said, and licked the palm of his hand. He began jerking himself off, and slowly started swaying in time with the strokes. It was easier if he thought of Mulder; Mulder's hand over him, Mulder's breathing on his neck, Mulder's lips tickling his collarbone. It was an indulgence, but it couldn't hurt. Despite his best intentions he was in love, and the only guilt he felt was that he didn't deserve to have someone like Mulder as his obsession.

The man stared at him, and Krycek only smiled. He brought up two fingers to his lips and began sucking on them for a second, before parting his legs. He worked the first finger in, and kept the hand on his cock moving. The man couldn't keep his mouth shut. The first finger slipped inside him easily, and pushing out slightly brought the knife to the palm of his hands. It was body temperature, and it felt right in his hand. He closed his fingers over the switchblade, and then motioned the man forward with a slow smile.

They kissed, and Krycek let his mouth be taken. Already he could feel the man's erection pressed against him, but the second he put down the gun to take off his jeans, Krycek pushed the switchblade button and the blade jumped out. He slit the man's throat, carefully avoiding the arch of blood that splashed against the wall. The man fell, clutching his throat, but was dead before he hit the ground. Krycek had to jump to grab his jeans before the blood pool reached it. He dressed again, slipping the knife into his pocket, and grabbed the suitcase on the way out.

He should have felt something, but getting into his car, he was nothing but numb. He had twenty five thousand dollars cash next to him--but the bastard hadn't even asked to look at it before trying to get into Krycek's jeans. He knew he wouldn't be sent on a job that the mark wouldn't feel attracted to him, but he still felt filthy and degraded. The consortium had women and men of all descriptions in the same position as Krycek was--people who would sell themselves to anyone or anything in order to keep what ever dark little secret they had from airing in the light, and they used them like pawns to get their way. Krycek wasn't alone-despite how he felt at that moment.

He took the long way back to his new apartment-the way that drove past Mulder's apartment. The lights were off. They had been out for almost a week, ever since the rape. He stopped the car and stared at the window for almost an hour. It calmed him, just looking up at the black window. He didn't want to get remorseful or sappy, but he had been happy in that apartment. He may have fooled Mulder into loving him, and it may have been cemented through lies and dishonesty, but the love Mulder felt for him had been real. For the first time in his life, his being alive made another person happy. He leaned forward and rested his chin against the steering wheel.

And jumped as a traffic cop rapped on his window. "Camping, son?" the old man asked.

Krycek jumped. If an old man in a yellow rain slicker could sneak up on him, he was losing it. "Just waiting for a...friend to show up," he said, unrolling his window a crack. When had it started raining? He couldn't remember, but his windshield was pebbly with water drops.

"Move on, she's not coming back tonight," the man said, and moved to the next car parked in violation. Krycek sighed and put the car in gear. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. Why did his body hurt so much? No one had beaten him in over a week.

So he drove home. He had nowhere else to go. Running away occurred to him, but the money beside him wouldn't buy him an extra month of his life if the smoker wanted him dead. He couldn't run from a global conspiracy.

The new apartment was at least decorated better than the last. Some of the pictures on the walls probably were even worth something. It wasn't because of him that they put them there; the smoker dropped by three nights last week, and although he had done nothing besides ask for a glass of the single malt scotch in one of the decanters already provided, Krycek still felt dirty.

He parked on the street, even though he had an underground parking spot. It was just safer that way. He glanced up--the lights of his apartment were on. Bloody hell. He should have stopped by the old man's office and returned the money instead of mooning around Mulder's place. Sick to his stomach, grabbed the suitcase and got out of the car. He unlocked the security door and took the elevator up to the fifth floor.

He unlocked the door and put the keys on the hanger beside another pair that weren't his, and put the case by the door. He sniffed. Chinese food. The sweet sour smell filled the apartment. The hall lead into the dining room, and the table had six or seven cardboard boxes with the name of a local Chinese restaurant stamped on it. He came in to the white living room and sat down across from the smoker.

The old man stared at him. "Gerbils," he said, and rubbed his face. "The password is Gerbils and the case is by the door."

"Have you eaten yet?" the old man asked.

Krycek looked up. "What?" he asked.

"Have you eaten anything yet? I would think you are trying to starve yourself. I have been getting complaints from your clients. They aren't paying to fuck a scarecrow, Alex."

Krycek opened his mouth, but lost what he was trying to say. He closed it again and went back to cradling his head in his hands.

"When was the last time you ate?" the smoker continued, paternally.

Krycek shook his head. He hadn't had breakfast, but he must have had something for dinner the night before. He couldn't remember, though. Maybe he hadn't. "I don't know," he said, quietly.

The smoker motioned the food on the table. "Eat."

Krycek didn't bother protesting. He'd probably be force-fed if he refused, and it wasn't worth it. His stomach came back from the dead and reminded him of the neglect. He grabbed a fork and dished himself out a plate, but the smoker called him back into the living room to eat just as he went to sit down. He shook his head and sat down at the man's feet. He ate mechanically, which made his stomach ache from being stretched out so much. The smoker took the plate and went back into the kitchen, but returned a moment later.

Krycek stretched out on the floor, half asleep. The smoker came back with a drink, and massaged Krycek's belly with his socked foot. Krycek stretched out, enjoying the feeling despite himself. Mulder had been the last man to touch him with affection, and he felt starved for the lack of it. The smoker wanted him subjugated. He'd subjugate himself...but only if he had some control of the man as well.

The toes moved down over the zipper of his jeans, and Krycek squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a low groan. He arched his back as the foot moved over to his groin, and gently nudged his thighs apart. The foot slipped down to nudge his balls under the tight denim, and then went back to the gentle rubbing motion. Krycek twisted under him, and spread his legs even wider to make it easier for the smoker. He reached out stretching even farther. Only his shoulders and hips touched the carpet. With his eyes closed he couldn't see what the smoker was doing, but he didn't care. All he wanted was more friction against his cock. Heat spread over his body, and he had to bite his lip to keep from saying anything he didn't want the smoker to hear.

His body shuddered as he came inside his jeans. "Christ...Mulder," he hissed. The foot didn't stop moving against him despite his slip. When he opened his eyes again he could feel the sweat cooling against his scalp and the waistband of his jeans felt was grimy against his skin. The foot didn't stop moving over him, even after he called Mulder's name. He hadn't meant to. It slipped out. He shuddered, not caring that the smoker watched every part of his orgasm, and then he went totally limp.

The smoker sat back on the couch and eventually Krycek could move enough to sit up and push himself back from the man. He stayed on his ass for a moment, resting his elbows on his knees, and then pushed to his feet. The cum against him had already started to cool, and he made a face as he stood.

"Go wash off," the smoker said, having to control even the most obvious actions. Krycek almost wanted to strip off there and walk to the bathroom naked because his jeans were damp with sweat, and his T-shirt wasn't much better.

Something bothered him. Krycek stopped and slowly turned around. "Sir?" he asked, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. Nothing could humiliate him; he had to remind himself. He was beyond it now. But he still couldn't look the smoker in the eye.

"Yes, Alex?"

"Where...is he?" he asked, quietly, keeping his eyes down. The only thing the smoker could do was beat him for the question, and he could handle that. Not knowing killed him. "He... I... he... I'd really like to know."

The smoker looked at him, and went back to nursing his scotch. "I told you to have a shower."

Krycek didn't argue any more.

It felt good to scrub his skin clean. He braced himself against the tiles and let the water pound down on him. He didn't want to think of anything, but his traitorous mind wouldn't stop working. How many times had Mulder made love in the shower? A dozen, maybe less. Mulder would move behind him, kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck. It always felt so...pure. He used to find himself trembling...just in case Mulder would reject him. It never happened. Mulder had loved him until Krycek raped him.

The water slowly cooled off, and Krycek lifted his head to be blasted by the cool water. He turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to the main room. He was alone in the apartment. On the table, surrounded by the still full cartons, were five stacks of one thousand dollars. He gathered it up and put it in his sock drawer to be deposited tomorrow, and took a moment to put away the food. On his pillow was an address. Mulder's mother's house.

He tried to sleep, but found he couldn't. So he didn't. He drove out to the Vineyard, and spent the early morning at a diner waiting for the first ferry to go out. He got out of his car and went to the railing. He stared down at the water, and wondered how cold it was. It was his first vaguely suicidal thought he had had since he met the smoker. Ever since he had fucked up and needed someone to catch him, his only thoughts were on survival. But he almost couldn't ask himself why he couldn't, why he wanted to live through this. This wasn't a life. He leaned against the railing, which pressed hard and cold against his lower belly and sighed. This line of thought wasn't doing him any good. He straightened up and went back to his car, where he cranked the heat on high. It was a cold morning.

He drove around the block enough times to start worrying about people calling the cops. He finally parked outside and got out of the car. It was a big first step away from the car, but he walked up the lane and knocked on the door.

Mulder's mother came to the door. "Yes?" she asked, but kept the screen door between them. Krycek wondered at the change in himself to consider mosquito netting to be a barrier between him and something he wanted.

"Is... Fox home?" he asked. The word sounded strange to him. He didn't think he had ever called Mulder his first name before. But then Mulder had never called him Alex, so it just seemed right. Now he just felt like an awkward teenager coming to call, and he realized he never should have come.

"He's asleep."

Krycek glanced down at his watch. Of course Mulder was asleep; it was quarter to seven in the morning. "I... I..." he stammered, never wishing for a tidal wave more in his life. "I'm sorry, I'll go."

"Wait... are you his... friend?" she asked, and suddenly she was the one who was nervous.

Of all the things he was to Mulder, that would be the only word he wouldn't have used. "Yeah," he lied. "We're friends."

"Come in and wait. He should be up, soon."

"Is he...all right?" Krycek asked, sitting down uncomfortably in the kitchen.

"He's tired. Are you hungry?"

"No ma'am," Krycek said. He wasn't. Tired, beaten, drained, but he wasn't hungry.

She stood up and started making breakfast any way. The skies lightened to a gray by the time she finished it. Krycek heard a door open and close, and a moment later, Mulder stepped into the kitchen. They stared at each other for a moment...and then Mulder turned and left the room. The back door opened and closed before Krycek reached it. He ran after Mulder, slamming the door behind him. Mulder turned at the sound, but didn't stop walking. Krycek ran the three steps between them, and grabbed Mulder's arm.

"Don't touch me," Mulder snapped.

Krycek let him go. At least the agent stopped walking. Mulder... I-"

"You what? Don't tell me you love me, Krycek. Don't tell me you're sorry. Tell me this is the last time I'll ever see you and then go."

"I didn't have any choice, Mulder. Do you think I wanted to--" Krycek began, and then Mulder backhanded him, just like old times. Krycek fell down to one knee, holding his mouth. He turned his head and spit up the blood gathered, but couldn't feel any loose teeth. He glanced up, seeing Mulder all but panting with his fists balled at his side, and he looked down again, spitting again. "This is the last time you'll see me," he said thickly, still on his knees. Mulder went back inside. Krycek went back to his car through the side gate.

He was an idiot to think the smoker would do him any favours. What did he expect to happen--Mulder to accept him with open arms and forgive him? He tricked his lover into giving up control and then raped him in front of the camera. And that made him worse than a rat. He just...he didn't want to think about it, but every time he tried to close his mind to it, he could recall how tense Mulder had been under him. How tight...yet even then there was a slight yield to Krycek. Mulder had trusted him during...maybe he should have fucked Mulder unconscious and left his lover with the security of knowing it was a rape, and it wasn't his fault. But he had forced Mulder into enjoying it, or at least to orgasm. Krycek thought he was making it easier. It wasn't.

For either of them.

But... it felt so good to see Mulder again. Mulder's cat-like motions, the split second smile Mulder gave when he first saw him...that could have been Krycek's imagination. It probably was. Mulder hated him...he shouldn't have expected anything else. It still hurt to breathe. It was like he had been kicked into the ground, only there was no chance of zoning out of this pain. He hurt-- he earned it. It was his fault.

The smoker waited for him. Krycek walked in and hung his keys up, and then grunted as the smoker grabbed his jacket and threw him against the wall. Krycek went limp, and then winced as the smoker's hand closer over his throat.

"Where did you go?" the smoker asked.

Krycek swallowed under the hand. Two fingers pressed against his Adam's apple lightly, and Krycek started to sweat. "To see him," he said. He didn't even bother to lie. It wasn't that the smoker probably had him followed, it was he that wanted to be punished for it. He had fucked up, and after the smoker finished working him over he'd feel better.

"Did I say you could go, Alex? Did I give you permission for you to leave?"

Krycek shook his head. The address, but no leave to go there. The smoker set him up to disobey, but he was beyond the sting. "I'm sorry," he said, and took the smoker's hand from his throat. He kissed it on the palm, and let it go.

"Not this time," the smoker said blankly, and then backhanded him. Krycek banged his head against the wall, and then the old man kneed him in the groin. The pain exploded throughout his entire body and the smoker backed away so he could fall down to the floor. Krycek moved so that both hands could hold his hurt. He stopped breathing as the ache froze his body. This was better; the pain made the ache in his gut hurt less.

The smoker kicked him in the small of the back viciously, and stepped back. "Alex, lower your knees," the smoker ordered.

Krycek froze. It was one thing to get beaten and do nothing to stop it...but he didn't think he could lower his defenses to participate in it. He shook his head, unable to breathe, but it was a pitiful gesture. He looked up, begging without saying a word. He couldn't unclench his jaw to speak.

"Alex, don't make me repeat myself."

He took a deep breath, and lowered his knees. His stomach muscles cramped from the fear.

"Now your hands."

He exhaled, and lowered his head. "Please...please," he whispered, shaking his head.

"Alex," the smoker warned gently.

He was making it worse for himself. Krycek knew that, but still it took every ounce of strength he had to unbend his fingers and move them away from his swollen testicles. He never felt more naked or more exposed in his life. The smoker slowly drew back his foot and kicked him in lower belly. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't vomit, he couldn't cry out. His entire body howled on the inside and he couldn't help the pain tears dripping off his nose.

But then the smoker knelt down beside him, and gently helped him to the sofa. He curled up, hugging his knees to his chest. The man returned a moment later and brought back a damp cloth and a glass of water. "That wasn't so bad," he said. "You did well."

Krycek didn't say anything. He still wasn't sure that he could. "Here, suck on this. It will help," the man whispered, and pressed an ice-cube against his lips. Krycek opened his mouth, and the melting icy water felt good on his throat.

"Why?" he croaked, and had to move the ice-cube around in his mouth to do so. The smoker daubed his face businesslike and stood up, ignoring the question. "What did you expect?" he asked. "Tell me, Alex. Did you want him to take you in his arms and forgive you? Did you want him to see how much you were hurting too? You betrayed him. You used him to keep your own skin intact and he will never, ever forgive you. What would you do in his position?"

Krycek didn't have to think about it. "I'd have killed me," he said. He would have. And then he would have killed the smoker for making him realize that. He should have known the smoker would never have given him that support. It was better not knowing and hoping Mulder take him back. Now he didn't even have that. He didn't really have a lot of hope...but now he felt raw without even that.

"Be glad he's a better man and just punched you," the smoker said, and drew a line down Krycek's lips. He winced as the man touched the bruise Mulder gave him, but he lay still for it. "I'm all you have left, Alex. Remember that."

Krycek moved to him, and then after a moment's hesitation, kissed the smoker's lips. The smoker hid his surprise well. The smoker grabbed his hips, for a second, and returned the kiss almost violently. "Don't waste your time. You're not fooling me," the smoker said, and left him alone in his apartment.

Krycek woke up the next morning still on the couch. He sat up stiffly, and smiled as he remembered the last time he fell asleep on the couch. But he hadn't been alone the last time, and his balls didn't ache this badly. He undid his jeans and rubbed them gingerly. Maybe they had, but it was for a completely different reason.

He stood up and zipped his jeans. The bruise on his belly was purple, but he didn't think any internal damage was done. At least he was hungry again. He went into the kitchen, but there was nothing in the fridge. Absolutely nothing--no Chinese food, no mealy apples, even the ketchup and mustard were gone. There was nothing but the refrigerator light bulb. The freezer was the same way--empty except for the ice cube tray. For an insane moment he thought now was the perfect time to defrost it, before the panic set in. Nothing. Nothing in the cabinets, pantry... no food in the house. He went to go the door, but it wouldn't open. He flicked the deadbolt the other way, but the door wouldn't open. He slammed his body against the door, but it wouldn't open.

He went to the balcony, but the door didn't open either. The cigarette smoker wouldn't let him starve to death, but he hated the trapped feeling that made his breathing difficult. He went back to the door, but it still wouldn't let him pass. "Fuck!" he swore, and kicked it.

The phone didn't have a dial tone to it. He threw it across the room and it clanged loudly. He began pacing, but realized it wasn't doing him any good. He went back to searching his kitchen, but they had cleaned out everything. He had a glass of water to fill his stomach, and then sat down to wait.

He'd been hungry before. He'd been locked up for two days banging against the silo before the smoker came and got him out again. He had thought he was going to die there, too, but the smoker saved him then, too. He smiled, leaning back against the sofa. And then there were all the lost suppers his father forced him to miss being unable to apologize for something he didn't think he did wrong. Eventually he got tired of the hunger pains and told his father what the man wanted to hear. Not much had changed since.

The day passed slowly. Krycek didn't move off the couch except to fill up his glass or empty his bladder. He didn't turn on the light, and when the sky went from grey to black he sat in the dark. The sky had an ugly orange glow to it, and his stomach grumbled uncomfortably. He stood up, moving to the bathroom in the dark, and flicked on the light. His urine was almost clear, and the hunger pains didn't go away as he stretched out his stomach muscles with the water.

He stared out the window, at the wall, and at the ceiling, but refused to let his mind fill with unneeded thoughts. He was here to purge...not just his body but his mind. His will...everything. Deliberately keeping his mind empty helped keep his mind off his belly, and he closed his eyes and let himself relax. Not looking at the clock helped the time go by faster. He'd take this as punishment for disobeying the smoker and then go back to the way things were.

Krycek moved back to the couch. He expected the door to open all day, but as it became almost midnight he started to fear the smoker wasn't coming back. He started to pace again, but his blood sugar was so low it made him dizzy. He lay down on the couch, hugging his empty belly. If he slept, it was only in short snatches that made him sicker to his stomach. He had to wake up every couple hours to piss, and in the morning he was almost feverish.

He woke up alone again, and searched the apartment just to make sure. He was. The hunger pains diminished yesterday between meal times, but now he was continually hungry. If he could make it through the day the pains shouldn't bother him any more, but that didn't help the gnawing pain that took up most of his belly.

He had learned his lesson. This took it too far. His anger helped deal with the pain of his stomach for the first part of the day, and then joined the gnawing hunger in his belly. He didn't have the energy to pace, but he would have.

He brought a kitchen chair to the sliding door, but as he swung it the glass shuddered once, but didn't crack. He swung at it again, and again, and again until he could hardly pick up the chair, but the glass didn't even scratch. He really was trapped.

So he tried to sleep. Well, it was more than lying on his back staring at the ceiling, but it wasn't pure sleep. He drank almost all the time, which was starting to make his stomach upset. The sky darkened again without the smoker returning, and he started to fear the old man would never come back for him. He'd starve to death fifty feet from civilization.

The key in the door turned. Krycek sat up, and winced as it moved his head. The low-blood sugar headache made him ache from behind his eyes to his shoulder blades. The smoker came in with a bag of take away, and the smell made his stomach cramp up. He stood up, hesitant and woozy by the couch.

"Sit down," the smoker said, but motioned the floor instead of the couch. Krycek folded his body, almost falling down. The smoker turned on the lights, and Krycek winced as the man sat down before him. "How have you been sleeping?" the smoker asked.

Krycek tried to keep his eyes on the smoker, but the grease stains on the bag looked so inviting. It was just a hamburger and fries, but his mouth couldn't stop watering. "Miserably," he said, honestly. He looked back to the smoker.

The man smiled at him, and then opened the bag. Krycek tried not to look so desperate, but his hunger was too much for him. He parted his lips as a single French fry came out. It was still warm, as he smoker put it in his mouth and the salt and the grease was the greatest thing he had ever tasted. He looked up for more, but the smoker's mouth was a thin line. "Want more?" the smoker asked.

Krycek only nodded.

"Kiss my shoes."

Krycek stared.

"Kiss the toe of my shoe, Alex. Run your tongue over it. Do you ever want to eat again?"

Krycek balked, and shook his head. He wasn't that hungry.

The smoker shook his head. "Have it your way, Alex," he said, and stood up to go.

He was left alone for two days. All the water he could drink, but nothing else. His stomach stopped hurting after the third day, but whenever he stood up his head went light and he had to rest for several moments before trying to walk.

The smoker came back with another bag of food once it became dark on the fourth night. Krycek raised his head as the key turned, but he was too tired to fight. The smoker sat down, and stretched out his legs. "Alex?" he asked.

"Don't make me do this," Krycek whispered.

"You forced me to, Alex. I want to trust you. I want you to trust me. And in order to do that I have to make sure you will never disobey me again," the smoker said. Krycek stared straight ahead. "If you wait any longer, you will start to lose muscle tone, and I'd rather that didn't happen. Would you like me to make it easier, Alex? I don't judge you for this. No one else has to know you bent this far. We've all done it."

"And if I don't?" Krycek asked, not looking up.

"You'll starve to death. Slowly, in this apartment. The room is soundproof, the windows shatterproof, and in twenty some odd days from now we'll carry your corpse out. It shouldn't take that much effort. I hear it's a horrible way to die."

Krycek met his eyes, and then slowly backed up an extra foot. He lowered his body down so that his weight came down on his elbows, and he slowly brought his tongue across the toe of the smoker's shoe. It was slightly salty and just a little dusty, and his tongue felt gritty. "That was the price two days ago, Alex. It's gone up. Take the shoe off."

Krycek balked again, but this time only for a moment. He slipped the shoe off and then the sock without being told to. "Wash my foot, Alex. Slowly, like you really want to. Show me how much you want to."

Krycek winced. It was an old man's foot, covered in calluses at the balls of each of the toes and the heel was rough. "I can't," he said, but he moved his jaw. But he would. They both knew it. At least the smoker respected him enough to let him believe for a moment longer that he really wouldn't. Krycek had to stop himself from looking up gratefully.

"You have to," the old man said, and then pushed Krycek's head down to his foot. "Go on."

The first lick was the worst. Oddly enough, the old man's foot tasted faintly of soap and laundry detergent. But Krycek winced and pulled back, fighting down the urge to vomit. There was nothing in his stomach to empty, but he still felt ill.

"More, Alex. Longer strokes, suck on the toes," the smoker said.

Krycek shuddered, but let his tongue travel over the arch of the man's arch, between the bones on the top of the foot, and then work their way between the toes. Again, he tasted nothing but soap, but it did nothing for the humiliation. The more he licked, the easier it became. He lifted the foot up an inch, working on the anklebone. He sucked on it, and then worked his hands up the calf. He worked his mouth back down the back of the smoker's heel, and saw the smoker's face. He was getting off on it. Krycek moved his hands up the smoker's leg, across his thighs, and kneaded his hand into the smoker's groin.

He felt the response. He sat back for a second in shock, but didn't stop the gentle kneading. The smoker closed his eyes and his breathing sounded laboured.

"Sir... please... I'm starving," Krycek whispered.

The smoker's eyes flew open. He dropped the bag in front of Krycek, and Krycek half turned his body to hunch over it like a mutt over a bone. He crammed a handful of fries in his mouth, and licked his fingers clean. The fries that had been touching the drink were cold, but he didn't care. He finished the last fry in less than a minute, and the ice-cold coke burned his throat as he gulped it down. He couldn't stop pulling on the straw. Finally he ran out of breath and had to stop, but all he could do was sit there and suck in his breath. His stomach rebelled at the sudden rush of fat in his stomach, but the coke helped settle it a little.

He burped, unable to control it, and then grabbed the hamburger. He bit off a quarter of it, but took the time to chew it. The salt from the pickle irritated the top of his mouth, and he had been so starved that every flavour exploded in his mouth. He took another swallow from the coke while he chewed, and it helped him swallow.

The smoker took the rest of the burger from him. Krycek wanted to protest but found he couldn't. "On your hands and knees," the man said.

Krycek pulled to his knees. "Closer," the man ordered.

Krycek moved. His head was almost in the smoker's lap, but not quite. He jerked forward as the smoker moved his leg so that his foot pushed up against Krycek's groin, with his toes against his ass. The smoker flexed his foot, and Krycek rocked forward against the man's leg. He closed his eyes. This time there was no humiliation. He realized there should have been, but he didn't care. The smoker fed him bits of the hamburger while he rocked Krycek against the shin holding him up. Krycek groaned softly. It was good. No matter how degrading...it was good. He finished the hamburger, and without being told to he moved so he could undo the man's slacks and take the half erection into his mouth.

The smoker hissed and grabbed him by the ears to force Krycek to go down further on him. Through it all, his mind was blank, just riding the physical feeling of it all. The smoker's erection firmed in his mouth, never hard enough to penetrate him if that was what the smoker wanted, but it was enough for the orgasm that shook his body.

Krycek turned his head so that his forehead pressed against the smoker's belly and then backed away, sitting back on his haunches. He leaned back, undoing his jeans and brought himself out. He closed his eyes until he heard the smoker clear his throat. He opened them slowly, and saw that he wasn't playing by the rules. He wasn't allowed to imagine anymore. He spit the man's cum back into his palm and used it for lubrication. The smoker's eyes widen in appreciation, but Krycek didn't do it for him. Krycek just didn't want to swallow it.

But it was difficult... like being forced to piss at the doctor's office. He couldn't draw up any fantasy to help him and there was nothing erotic about the smoker to help him. His stomach was queasy from gulping down the oily food and his body was exhausted from the starvation.

"Let me," the smoker said, patting the couch next to him. Krycek moved to sit as the man slipped down to his knees. Krycek tensed as the man took the time to lick up all his seed Krycek had spread before taking Krycek's cock to the back of his throat. Krycek stopped breathing for a moment, but the smoker kept his teeth covered.

Krycek gradually relaxed enough to wrap his hands around smoker's head. He didn't dare force himself, but the smoker wasn't looking at him. Krycek arched his back and slid down to the edge of the couch. He could pretend that the mouth on his cock was someone else's mouth...and he felt himself slowly respond. He opened his mouth to exhale and heard himself make the pathetic little gasps Mulder used to love to tease him about. "Please... please," he whispered.

The smoker worked his finger over Krycek's slick cock and then worked it into Krycek. Krycek forgot how much he loved the feeling of being filled and sucked at the same time. He gasped as his hands involuntarily tightened on the smoker's head and he spread his legs to make it even easier. He was so close. He could feel the short hairs on the back of his neck dampen with sweat. And his knees alternately locked up and went weak. He came, gasping, and the smoker swallowed it from him.

They lay there for a long minute before the man pushed up and away from him. Krycek sat back, not sure of what to do, and the smoker stood up.

"You're mine, now, Alex. Don't forget that," the man hissed, and then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out Krycek's gun. The smoker held it out of Krycek's reach as long as Krycek stayed on the couch. Krycek slowly pushed to his feet, not knowing if the smoker wanted to give him the gun or just a couple bullets from it, but then the man threw the weapon on the sofa and left the room. Krycek heard the door open and lock, and he was alone again. He took a couple steps to check to see if the door would open again, but then changed his mind. He didn't care either way. He felt used...broken...and abandoned. It was probably a good thing the smoker didn't spend the night. Krycek would have thrown himself at the man out of gratitude for not being alone.

But he was alone. He fell against the wall instead, hugging his body. So this was complete and total misery. He slid down the wall so that his jacket rode up to his shoulders and then crawled forward to grab the gun, returning to his place. He stared at it, rubbing the dull black sides against his jeans, and then carefully pressed it against his temple. It was cold, despite being in the smoker's pocket, but he couldn't pull the trigger. He couldn't go that far. He didn't want to die, damn it. But he didn't want to live like this. He couldn't move--his indecision was that strong. He closed his eyes, but didn't move or sleep. For the rest of the night he stayed exactly where he slid down, but by dawn he made his decision. He wanted to live.

In the morning the smoker came back. Krycek glanced up, bleary eyed, and saw the smoker stare at the gun. Breakfast from the same restaurant landed in a bag before his knees, and Krycek ate everything before the smoker spoke for the first time. "Still have all your skull? I am impressed. Get up and strip."

Krycek pushed to his feet, painfully. His muscles ached from being crouched all night. His head pounded and his body felt ashy, but Krycek's mind was clear. It was like the fever of his body had broken during the night, and he was well again. Maybe not well, but he was no longer shaking. The smoker had made it all right for him once, and he was back. He didn't need Mulder...he just needed somebody. So he closed his eyes, and took off his clothes. They were grimy from being next to his skin, and he felt better naked than he did with his clothes on. "Shower, Krycek."

Krycek let himself relax. It was like the first time the smoker had saved his career. He had jumped to the wrong conclusion and accused before he had proper proof. It turned out to be groundless and the senator had complained. The smoker had intercepted the letter and had given Krycek a choice-- work for him or have the letter delivered to his director.

His director had hated him. Well...maybe hate was too strong a word, but Krycek had been too eager to please in the beginning. He wanted a fresh start. It was just the way the man looked at him. Like he knew what his father knew. And judged him for it. Everything he did wasn't quite right. So when he saw that letter with the official letterhead on the smoker's desk. All he could see was his director's face.

So he let the smoker help him. The man took him from his dingy apartment--young agents don't make that much--and brought him back to his apartment. Krycek had been so cold, and the first thing the smoker did was give him a stiff drink and send him to the shower.

It was the same thing, only now the smoker remained in the washroom to watch. Krycek washed his hair, and with his eyes full of soap, the smoker came up and scrubbed his back. Krycek arched his back again, enjoying it despite himself. The soap washed out, and the smoker kept him under there until the tenseness of his shoulders melted out. The man turned off the water for him, and then wrapped the towel around him. Krycek felt a wave of gratitude for the kindness, and almost wanted to kiss the smoker as payment. The smoker smiled at that, and towel dried his hair with a gentle touch.

"Get dressed," the smoker said. "I'll be outside."

Getting dressed in privacy was...an interesting feeling. He didn't turn on the light, and the light filtered through the blue curtains giving everything an underwater hue to it. He dressed in the chill of a room not used for the night, and came back dressed in a pair of clean black jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt.

The smoker opened up a new package of cigarettes and offered him one. For a moment Krycek balked. "I quit," he said, feeling dumb.

"Start up again," was all the smoker said.

Krycek took one, and leaned forward as the smoker lit it. The first drag was dry in his lungs, and the acrid smoke calmed his nerves. He exhaled slowly, and smiled up at the other man. "Thank you," he said.

The smoker touched his chin. "Welcome back."

Krycek waited for the door to close and then went into his bedroom. Too many sleepless nights left him with no defenses to keep the nightmares away.

So the dreams found him.

The smoker asked him to do nothing but light housework for the first week. Krycek was a bit confused, but he didn't spend a lot of time analyzing his feelings.

The knock on the door woke him up. He hadn't realized he had slept that late. He sat up feeling mildly confused; the smoker never visited him this late. It just felt wrong.

The smoker wasn't alone. An older man...not quite as old as the smoker but the stranger's hair was going grey and he was beginning to have a pot belly.

Krycek glanced to the smoker for guidance, not liking the way the other man stared at him. It was like he wasn't even there.

"Very nice," the stranger said, and reached out to touch Krycek's cheek.

Krycek jerked away, but then saw the look of disapproval on the smoker's face. Krycek's lips parted out of shock, but the betrayal wasn't quite complete. "Enjoy him," the smoker said, and left them alone.

The man didn't even talk to him. Krycek had been too stunned to protest...and he wasn't that nave that he didn't understand exactly what the deal was between them now. Nothing was for free. Nothing.

The irony was...until then he had been a virgin. He hadn't even been kissed. It wasn't that the opportunity hadn't come up, there had been a few times as a teenager he had wanted to, but he found he couldn't. Wouldn't. It was too much power he was giving up. And if his father found out, it wouldn't have been a case of being kicked out of the house. His father would have killed him.

"Strip."

The words startled him. He looked at the man, hesitant, and then took the backhand across the face. He managed to stay on his feet, but quickly pulled off his T-shirt rather than having to face another smack. The jeans followed.

"On the floor," the man demanded, only glancing at his naked body. Krycek couldn't tell from his facial expression if he was thrilled or displeased with him. The man's face was blank, completely and totally.

Krycek stared at him, still not sure. The man threw him down on the living room floor and took a moment to draw Krycek's body into a more fuckable position. The carpet burns on Krycek's shoulders hurt, but he said nothing

The man grabbed Krycek's legs, holding them up over him like a woman. He hadn't been expecting the pain from his hip joints, or the agony of taking the man in his body.

He took the pain, gritting his teeth against it but wouldn't let himself show the man how much it hurt to be fucked for the first time. He could feel himself tear, but the pain was less than being beaten by a thick belt or being picked up by his hair and dragged to his room. Krycek squeezed his eyes shut. Or have his father looking at him after doing those things to him like it was Krycek's fault for being so...delicate.

The man grunted again, bringing him out of the memory. Krycek bit his lip, hard enough to feel it start to swell, but he didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he had been Krycek's first. "Whore," the man hissed once inside him, but then squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed.

Krycek took the pounding. Studying the face of the man causing him that much pain made it easier, at least. The man had begun the evening in complete control of both of them, but ended up begging Krycek to just let him use him.

With a grunt, the stranger came inside him and fell over him, as his legs were unable to hold him. After a moment the man got off him, pulled off the condom and knotted it before throwing it in the wastebasket under the coffee table.

Krycek's hips hurt as he sat up to watch the man leave the apartment. "You really are a whore," he repeated, and left twenty dollars on the table just inside the door.

It took a long time for Krycek to want to pull on his jeans and get up.

The next morning Krycek woke to a knock at the door. He stood up, groggy and sore from the first full night of sleep he had. He pulled on his jeans, zipping them but didn't bother with the button. He rubbed his belly as he pulled his gun from the holster and went to the door. It wasn't locked from the outside any more. It didn't need to be.

"Who is it?" he called, and chambered the first round as a warning.

"Mr. Krycek?" a frightened voice called. Krycek paused...he couldn't remember the last time someone called him that.

Krycek moved away from the door. "Mr. Krycek, I am...they sent me."

He unlocked the door, keeping the chain on, and made sure the gun was very visible.

The young kid looked up at him. Christ, was he ever that clean-faced? No wonder Mulder hated him on sight. "In," he said, and motioned with the gun. This was his reward?

"Mr. Krycek?" a frightened voice called. Krycek paused...he couldn't remember the last time someone called him that.

Krycek moved away from the door. "Mr. Krycek, I am...they sent me to help you."

He unlocked the door, keeping the chain on, and made sure the gun was very visible. "I didn't know I needed help," he said.

The young blond kid looked up at him. His eyes were too big for his face and his nose turned up. He didn't look old enough to drink, forget work for the consortium. "In," he said, and motioned with the gun. "What do they want you to do?" he asked.

Without speaking, the boy dropped down on his knees and reached up to unbuckle his jeans. Krycek jumped back, grabbing the boy's hands. "Stop it," he said. He pulled the boy to his feet. "If you are here to help you can go shopping," he said. He returned to his bedroom and pulled out a stack of bills from his sock drawer. "Food. Now."

The boy looked up confused. "What...what do you want?" he asked.

"Everything. Go," he pushed the boy out, and fingered the almost invisible deadbolts that had locked him in for the four days. The smoker had brought him a bag full of staples, but it made him nervous not to have any more than a day's worth of food in the place.

He lay down on the couch, still a bit tired and reached for the pack the smoker had been so kind to leave him. He lit one up and took a drag before running a hand down his belly. He didn't really feel like jacking off, but he felt better just holding himself. Safer, at least.

Krycek didn't move as the door opened. He assumed it was the boy returning until he heard the smoker clear his throat. Krycek sat up, rubbing his face with his hands and snubbed out the cigarette.

"Where's the boy?" the smoker demanded.

So, the man was here for some cheap thrills. That shouldn't have surprised him, but for all they had been through it did. "Shopping," he said, and then stretched.

"That isn't what I sent him for."

There had been a time where he would have snapped that he didn't need his dick sucked, but he didn't want the smoker angry with him. The man noticed the change, and smiled. "You are learning to curb your tongue, Krycek. I am impressed."

They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then someone knocked on the door. The smoker turned to answer it. The boy came back, arms laden with groceries, and stood hesitantly in the open area kitchen waiting to be told what to do. "Put them away and come here," Krycek ordered, when it became clear the smoker wasn't going to speak.

Krycek moved to the smoker, and kissed him. It was a delicate touching of lips, but the smoker didn't respond to it. Krycek bent his knees, trying to get the old man to part his lips, but the smoker refused to help. Krycek even put his hand up and into the man's groin, but there was nothing there. Krycek backed away, respectfully.

Neither one of them spoke as the boy worked alone in the kitchen. At least he was quick and efficient. He put the last bag away, stowed the plastic in a drawer, and went to where Krycek and the smoker stood. He planted his feet exactly half way between the two of them.

"I said 'come here'," Krycek said, snapping his fingers as if he were talking to a dog. The boy came to him, and Krycek undid his jeans. "Down."

The power was a drug. The boy dropped down, obedient to the core, and finished taking Krycek out of his jeans. He didn't even know the kid's name. A long time ago that wouldn't have bothered him, and a while ago it would have made him feel like hell, but now he realized it wasn't important. The boy wasn't important. It wasn't about that. It was about looking across the room to the smoker and pleasing him vicariously.

The boy's mouth worked him over, but he grabbed the boy's head to make the mouth move faster. The smoker stared at him as well, not at the boy. He motioned the man to him as well, but smiled and lowered his eyes. He made sure it was an invitation and not an order. The smoker came to him, standing so that his own cock brushed against the back of the boy's head.

The boy was earnest, if not skilled, and Krycek rammed the boy's mouth further down his throat. "Do you want to know how it feels?" he asked, grunting. He pressed the boy back so that the boy's head rested against the smoker's body and held it still. The kid didn't fight the hands. Krycek began fucking the back of his throat, slamming his weight against both of them, and they both took it.

The smoker ran his hands under Krycek's shirt, running up to his nipples. Krycek shuddered as the fingers pinched him, twisted them. "Tell me," the smoker breathed.

Krycek kissed him, raking his teeth across the bottom lip. "He's so tight...is his ass like that? And warm...uhnn... Where did you get him? He wants to gag. I can feel his throat tighten against me. Does he swallow what you give him? He just shuddered, but he keeps his tongue over his teeth like a good little whore. He should know I'd break his neck if he bit me," Krycek said, and then shuddered himself. The smoker pressed against him, wrapping the boy's head between them. He could feel the boy struggling to breathe through his nose--the panic must have been intense. The smoker moved his hands around him, sliding between his undone jeans, and pressed his finger against his ass. Krycek arched his back, letting himself be penetrated. It was a repeat of the night before, but this was just to prove ownership.

"You like that, don't you?" the smoker demanded. Krycek groaned, feeling his body flush. Moving his hips forward brought his cock further down the boy's throat; back moved him deeper onto the finger inside him. He closed his eyes, just letting the waves of sensation over him. He came with a deep growl, and let the boy go. The smoker backed away from them both and left the apartment.

The boy stayed on his knees as Krycek moved away and zipped up his jeans. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed a banana. He glanced back to the boy, who didn't look up from his hands. He didn't feel sorry for him, any more than he felt sorry for himself, but it twigged him slightly to see a kid that young sell himself. "What's your name?" he asked, peeling the fruit.

The boy stood up, awkwardly. "Will, Mr. Krycek."

Krycek nodded tiredly. "If you are supposed to stay, help yourself to the food," he said, and went back to bed.

He woke up an hour later to Will standing by his bed. Krycek tried to ignore it, but the boy didn't go away. He motioned behind him, and the boy scrambled around the bed and lifted up the covers. Will crawled in the bed behind him. The boy's heat pressed up against his back, and within minutes the kid snored against the back of his neck. It took a lot longer for Krycek to fall asleep.

Krycek woke up to lips working over his inner thigh. His morning erection lay on his belly, and the boy moved up to attend to it. Krycek felt tiny kisses run up and down his length, and then Will gently lapped at the head of his cock. Krycek moaned, stretching out his arms. It was a hell of a way to wake up in the morning. The morning aches disappeared from him as the boy swallowed his cock, for a moment, and then the mouth left him. Will emerged from the blankets.

Will kissed him and Krycek tasted his pre-cum on the boy's lip. "Wanna fuck me?" the boy asked. His breath was hot against Krycek's cheek and his hip pressed against Krycek's cock, rubbing back and forth.

For a moment Krycek was going to throw the boy over onto his hands and knees and fuck him until Will moved, but Krycek stood up instead. The boy lost his balance and slipped off him, landing on the floor in a pile of blankets. Krycek went into the bathroom, and got in the shower. His cock ached, so he wrapped his fist around it.

The door opened, and a naked Will entered the shower. "Let me do that," the boy said.

Krycek didn't turn around as the boy reached around him, and took over the hand-job. "It's all right. You're not forcing me. I think you're hot. They showed me a picture of you."

Krycek splayed his fingers against the tiles. He bit back the groan he wanted to make, and began moving his hips to the motion of the boy's fist. It felt wrong, as his new found conscience...that sounded a lot like Mulder--bothered him still. Not enough to want to make the hand want to stop, though. He hadn't changed that much.

He came, splashing against the wall of the shower. Will rested against him, pressing his chest onto his back. Krycek could feel the boy's nipples against him. "Who's Mulder?"

"What?" Krycek demanded, pulling away.

"You said his name last night. I was just wondering. Was he your boyfriend?"

"Get out of here," Krycek snapped. He didn't feel ready to move, and besides, it was his shower. The boy immediately left him, and it took almost five minutes for his shoulder muscles to unclench. He had to get control of himself. He turned off the shower, and dried off slowly, giving himself time to cool down. He didn't know why Will only mentioning Mulder's name upset him so much, but it did. After he shaved and brushed his teeth, he was able to put things in perspective. The boy had to be with him, it wasn't his choice. Krycek shouldn't have snapped.

But the rage came back when he saw what Will had on the television. The boy had gotten into the bag of videos of Mulder and him, and had one of the videos playing. Krycek crossed the room, and kicked Will hard enough to lift the poor boy off his hands and knees. Will squeaked with pain, or maybe it was fear, and curled up, waiting for the beating. Krycek's fists tightened. He wanted to know how good it would feel to beat the shit out of the little punk for daring to get into his life. Will cowered before him, giving him even more of a power trip. The boy didn't even try to beg his way out of it.

Krycek turned away. He couldn't. He wasn't like that any more. He knelt down in front of the television, and watched Mulder's body writhing against his own. He couldn't even remember when that video was taken. It seemed like another person in another life. At least he was thankful that the angle of the camera meant he couldn't see either one of their faces. That would have really hurt. What the hell was he thinking in that moment when Mulder was inside him? He couldn't remember exactly any more. Probably nothing. He wanted to reach out and touch the screen, but that would be too pathetic.

Will realized he wasn't going to be punished for it, and came out of his ball. "Is that Mulder?"

"Yeah, that's Mulder," Krycek said. He should have stopped it, but Mulder was very close to coming inside him. He found his body moving slightly. Will moved behind him, and slowly began moving his hands over Krycek's shoulders, kissing his ear.

"He's cute, too. You look good together. Really good," Will was getting excited behind him, he could feel it.

"Cut it out," Krycek snapped. He didn't want this anymore. He turned the video off and left Will alone on the floor. The men on the video were two totally different people from the men they were today. He didn't want to be reminded of that.

Eggs, sausages, toast, bacon...Krycek cooked a huge meal and left half of it on his plate. His appetite was gone again. Poor Will stared at him, unsure of everything the entire time about him.

Krycek ignored him. It wasn't his responsibility to look after the boy's well being. Will was here to make sure that Krycek ate, slept, and kept his mind off Mulder. But if the smoker thought he was going to fall in love with the boy like they got Mulder to fall in love with him, the old man was crazy. Never, ever again.

The boy set out to do the dishes, and Krycek moved up behind him and lifted up his shirt. A fancy bruise had formed, but the stomach wall under it hadn't hardened. Will thrust himself back, cat-like and Krycek realized he was an idiot not to take the offered fruit. Mulder was gone--there was no point in keeping celibate. He yanked the boy's jeans down, but left him long enough to go to the bedroom to grab some scented oil from the bedside table. He had got it for Mulder to use, but they never had the chance.

Will hadn't moved from where Krycek forced him back. Krycek undid his jeans, pulled them down to his thighs, and dribbled the oil onto his cock. He moved his fist over himself until the oil warmed, and then rolled on the condom. More oil, but this time he didn't care about the temperature. The boy hissed with pleasure, thrusting his hips back. He didn't prepare the boy at all; he held the boy's cheeks open and positioned himself.

He slowly pressed into the boy. It didn't take that much to enter. For almost half an inch Will's opening wouldn't open for him, and then the ring of muscle slowly opened and let him pass. He could feel the pulse from the veins in the soft tissue inside Will, and the boy laughed, honestly laughed, and tried to force himself onto the cock.

Krycek grabbed his hips in a vice-like grip. "Stop it," he ordered. He squeezed into the pliant skin of the boy's ass, and couldn't stop himself from making the grip painful. Rather than pulling away, the boy threw back his head and moaned. So...Will liked pain. That disappointed him somewhat without knowing why.

"Please, Mr. Krycek," Will whispered. He constricted the muscles around Krycek's cock, deliberately. He pushed in another inch, being deliberately slow just to torture the little masochist.

It worked; the boy groaned, sounding like he was in honest pain. Ever so slowly he worked into the boy until his chest pressed against the boy's back. Krycek stayed still for more than a dozen heartbeats while the boy sobbed out his name. "Please. Oh, God, please, Mr. Krycek."

Krycek pulled almost free and then forced himself in. The boy jerked against him like he had been hit. Will laughed again, thrusting his hips back. "You like it rough," Krycek grunted in his ear. "Tell me how much."

"Hurt me," the boy hissed. "Please, Mr. Krycek. Please."

He took the boy's earlobe in his teeth and bit down hard. He actually had to stop himself from going all the way through, but he could feel the boy's shudder from inside. The boy loved it. He actually loved the pain. He bit down again, on the boy's neck, his shoulder, his hairline. Every bite or nip made the boy work against him harder. He grabbed a hold of the boy's hair, pulling his neck back hard enough so that the individual follicles almost pulled out of the boy's head, and Will begged for more. The boy tightened against his cock, making him work to fuck the boy. It felt so good to hurt, to bite, to rend and to have the recipient crying for worse.

The boy came, gasping for air, and the uncontrollable jerks his body gave off brought him off. They leaned against the counter, for a moment, and then Krycek pulled away. He did up his jeans, careful around his sore penis, and went back to the living room.

Will went back to finish the dishes. He had to empty the sink out and refill it with warmer water, and Krycek turned on the television. Will finished with his dishes and sat down in front of Krycek. Krycek put his hand on the boy's head, but said nothing. It was easier to have sex when he hadn't known what making love was. He didn't feel cheap, just empty. Hollow. Used. And he was the one doing the fucking.

Will didn't seem to mind, though. He went back to sitting on the floor--slightly more cautiously this time--and turned on the television. Krycek touched the boy behind the ear, and Will turned blindly to it. "What are you doing here?" he asked softly. The question slipped out; it was one thing that no one asked. Not in their line of work, at least.

Krycek expected to be told off. He may have lease of the boy's body, but that was it, nothing more. Will only shrugged. "The guy with the smokes told me to be here," he said, and leaned back as Krycek worked over his shoulders.

"Yeah, but why?" Krycek asked. The boy's shoulders weren't tight at all. It was like there was no stress in being a sex slave.

Will shrugged. "You want all of it?" he asked. "The usual story. I told my parents. They put me in therapy, had my head examined. It was bullshit. I left. That was three years ago, I was sixteen." Will rubbed against the back of the couch. "Once I made it to the city the man with the cigarettes used to pick me up a lot."

"He...what?" Krycek asked.

Will held out his hand, and let his index finger curl limp from his hand. "Yeah, he did. There are other things we did. And then a john who tried to kill me picked me up. There was blood everywhere. The smoker made sure he wouldn't hurt me again. He took care of things, and I fuck the people he wants."

Krycek touched the boy's shoulder. He knew how that felt, but the boy shrugged off the sympathy. "I don't mind it. Most of the guys are really nice about it...and then you..." Will said.

He didn't want to understand.

Krycek went to the office just after noon, and left Will in the car. The smoker was busy in a meeting that he wasn't important enough to interrupt. He heard the snickering from outside the room, and the smoker finally motioned him into the room. Three men sat at the table. Krycek looked up to the video showing and saw Will refilling the dishwater. It explained the way they were looking at him. The smoker went to him, lifting his chin. Krycek closed his eyes, but let his body be manipulated. "He is yours, gentlemen."

The smoker left them alone. Krycek went numb as he systematically shut down parts of him he didn't want to be touched. The three men were older, bland, and round in the middle. With shaking hands, they removed his jacket, pulled off his T-shirt, and helped him out of his jeans. Fat fingers ran over his belly, weak mouths claimed his, and he was lowered down to his hands and knees. He should have fought free. He could have taken the three of them but he didn't. He felt the first one force his way inside of him, and he tried to protest, but a second cock forced its way down his throat. He went down on it, if only to get it over with more quickly.

Krycek grunted with his mouth full. His back hurt from being twisted so badly from the two different wills pushing on it. The third man took his chin, pulling him off the man in his mouth. There was a grunt of displeasure from the man, and Krycek moved his hand up to gather the spit-covered cock, masturbating it while taking on the new cock. The man in his ass finished inside him, and was replaced by the man he was jerking off. There was a moment as the protection rolled on, and he was fucked again. He zoned out, but the men over him talked during the fuck as if they were alone in the room. He was nothing; he was a piece of furniture lent to them to further the deal. If it even was a deal. Krycek didn't want to know. He wanted it over with. The man in his mouth spilled, and Krycek swallowed it without tasting. His head started to ache.

They all had a turn on him. Krycek pressed his forehead against the carpet when they stopped wanting his mouth. The dozen or so table and chair legs were polished enough so he could see his distorted image. He turned his head so he wouldn't have to look at it, but then deliberately went back to it. He watched his face tighten in pain as the man fucking his ass dug his nails into Krycek's flesh to hold him down...and a realization broke through the barriers he erected.

This wasn't his life.

Not anymore.

It took all his strength not to push the bastard away from him and shoot them all dead. His gun was over by his jeans, he could have done it and felt their blood splatter against him. But he didn't. He owed the smoker this last time. A calm feeling came over him as he waited to fuck him. The last pig to finish his whispered obscenities in his ear and get off him.

They left him on the floor. Krycek crawled to where they threw his jeans, but didn't put them on before the smoker came back and helped him to his feet. "Very good, Krycek. Go home, have a shower."

"That was the last time," Krycek said, quietly.

"I decide when your last time is, Krycek," the smoker said, but kept his voice mild.

"I kill people for you. I bury your problems. I am not the fucking icing on your cake. Make your own deals, don't ask me to fuck them closed."

The smoker grabbed his chin, tightening his fingers. "I don't think you want to say that to me, Krycek. I own you."

Krycek lowered his eyes. "Then use me for what I'm meant for. There are other whores that would fuck a stump for money."

"Come, Krycek. There was a time you would have included yourself on that list. You're a good assassin, but you're a great whore. You should be proud of your skills. But don't tell me you're still pining. We all saw the video. You loved hurting that punk."

Krycek refused to look away. It hadn't been the same thing. He removed the smoker's hand. "He deserved it," he said darkly.

"And so do you. Have a shower, Krycek. You'll feel better. I am proud of you."

Krycek left with nothing resolved. Will waited for him in the car. He looked at Krycek, but didn't ask anything, and Krycek didn't volunteer anything. Will could probably smell him; he could feel his T-shirt stick to his skin. He drove the car mindlessly, and wished he was alone. Even hearing someone else's breathing bothered him. If Will said anything he would have crushed the boy's throat.

He suddenly stopped the car. "Get out," he said. He didn't care about the distance they were to the apartment, or how bad the neighbourhood was. He didn't want Will in the car with him anymore.

Will tried to protest, but Krycek didn't try to argue. He reached across the boy and opened the passenger door. "Out," he repeated.

The boy got out of the car, and slammed the door shut. Krycek drove away, and went to Mulder's apartment. The lights were still off, which would make this easier. He got out of the car and let himself into the building. He still had his key, letting himself in. He walked over to the couch, and sat down carefully. Mulder's smell...he had forgotten most of it. He closed his eyes and stretched out.

The sky was darker. He sat up, groggy from the nap, and realized the key turning in the lock woke him up. He jumped to his feet, as Mulder stepped into the room, flicked on the lights and saw him.

He froze. The door slammed shut and Mulder pulled his gun. Krycek carefully put his hands up. Mulder crossed the room, grabbed his T-shirt, and knocked him to his knees. Krycek tried to break away from the grip, and winced as Mulder pressed the gun into his cheek. It ground against the bone.

"I should kill you right now," Mulder growled. He clicked the safety off. Krycek tried to control the panic. He couldn't see Mulder's eyes, so he couldn't tell if Mulder would actually go through with it.

But there was nothing he could say to stop it if killing him was what Mulder wanted to do. His silence must have annoyed Mulder, because the agent jabbed him again with the gun, removed it, and pressed it against the base of his skull. Krycek lowered his head to the carpet, and waited for the bullet. Mulder wavered twice, each time he almost pulled back before pressing it harder against him. After the first time he realized Mulder wasn't going to kill him, but he continued to sweat as he waited for Mulder to realize that too.

Finally Mulder rubbed the back of Krycek's head with his free hand, and put the gun away. Krycek didn't move from his elbows and knees until Mulder backed away. "What are you doing here?" Mulder asked.

Krycek sat up, not looking at him. "May I go?" he asked.

"Not until you answer me. What the fuck are you doing coming back here?"

Krycek didn't answer. He looked up, and could see Mulder wanting to go for his gun again. "Getting the crap beat out of me," he said before he could stop himself. He bit down on his tongue and the sudden pain made his mouth more cautious. "I forgot what you smelled like," he said in all honesty.

Mulder glanced at him, trying to find then angle. Krycek took another deep breath, but didn't want to say he wasn't asking for forgiveness any more. He pushed up to his feet slowly, keeping his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. When the accountant told him what to say, he could ad lib beautifully. Now, when it was just Mulder and him, he had nothing to say. He felt tongue-tied and twisted and grateful just to be alive. "I love you," he said.

"You don't know the meaning."

"I did. You taught me," Krycek said. He went to go, but Mulder grabbed his arm.

"I should kill you," Mulder said again, but this time his voice wavered, full of pain. The hand on his shoulder tightened, and Krycek looked him in the eye for the first time. Mulder stared at him, and Krycek reached out, expecting his hand to be broken, but Mulder let Krycek touch his cheek. Mulder hadn't shaved in a couple days, but Krycek would have ignored the stubble burn if Mulder would allow him to press against him.

"Then do it," Krycek rasped out, squeezing his eyes shut. He held his breath, waiting for the bullet...but it didn't come. He slowly opened his eyes and ran his hand up and down Mulder's cheek before wrapping his fingers around Mulder's neck. He wanted to move closer and feel Mulder's heartbeat against his, but he knew he couldn't. Not yet.

Mulder kissed him, pulling on his lips with his teeth. The pain was sudden and splitting. Mulder pushed him away violently. "Get out," he growled.

Krycek took a step away to keep from falling down. He glanced back, but Mulder had already turned away, dismissing him. The emptiness in his chest made his ears ring. "Mulder, I..." he tried, but Mulder waved him gone. The dread didn't hit him until he was half way home.

Krycek opened the door to his apartment and heard the sound of sex coming from the living room. He hung up his keys and went to it. Will stood against the wall, hands spread out as the smoker stood behind him. The boy's body was tense, and he could hear the grunts that escaped him. Krycek couldn't see exactly what the smoker rammed inside him, but from the way the boy moved it must have been either large or thick...or knowing the boy's tastes, both. The smoker had stripped off his jacket, and was sweating from forcing whatever it was into the boy.

They either didn't see him, or the show was for his sake. Krycek reached into his jacket pocket and took out his pack. The smoke calmed him while giving hands something to do rather than cross self-consciously in front of his chest.

The boy dropped down to his knees, no longer able to stand, and the smoker followed him down. Will screamed out, sounding like he was being murdered, and then his body shuddered. The smoker backed off him, pulling out the dildo he used, and gave it to the boy. When Will could move, he stood up went and to the washroom, the smoker pulled out an identical dildo for him.

"Where have you been?" the smoker asked, slapping the dildo against his open palm. Krycek stared at it and forced himself to breathe. It would tear him, but it wouldn't kill him. It probably wouldn't kill him, he corrected himself.

It wasn't worth lying about. Will must have told the smoker he kicked the boy out, and then there was only one logical assumption to make. Of course Krycek also had the bruise on his cheek where Mulder had ground the gun. "To see him," he said, honestly.

The smoker backhanded him in the same place as the bruise. He gasped in pain, holding his hand to his cheek, and then groaned as the man pinned him to the wall by the throat and began rubbing the dildo against his hip. The thing was as thick as his wrist. It would hurt, and the sex-lust in the smoker's eyes hadn't died completely.

"Turn around," the smoker ordered.

Krycek felt his body tremble. He should have expected this; it was an acceptable risk at the time. Only now...now he was wasn't so sure. He didn't want the any more pain. He turned slowly around, and hoped he wouldn't bleed too much. "Don't do this, please," he said.

"I'd hate to think you'd enjoy this, Krycek. You can't think to get away with it."

The smoker motioned him to hold the dildo as he pulled down Krycek's jeans. "Do you really think you are that much more intelligent than I am? Than we are? We let you live now because you amuse us. I, for one, am sick of your constant duplicity, and your constant challenges to my authority. How badly do I have to hurt you to get you to obey me?" the smoker asked and ran the blunt head of the false cock against him.

Krycek heard the boy return, but the boy's breathing sounded nervous. "You aren't--" Will started.

"Shut up and sit down," the smoker snapped.

"We never...I never--" Krycek tried to get out, not letting the pathetic words finish.

"No. Of course you wouldn't. But you did, Krycek."

Krycek took a deep breath...bracing himself. The pain would be sudden, but he could handle it. "Was it worth it, Krycek? Tell me, was the momentary warmth of his arms worth this pain?"

There were dozens of answers to that question. Hundreds even. The one he chose wasn't the right one. "Yes," he said, and the dildo jammed up inside him. He remembered screaming; he didn't remember stopping.

A warm cloth wiped his brow, and then crossed over his lips. He parted his lips, and colder water dripped into his mouth. "You better not move," Will said, and Krycek realized his head was in the boy's lap. "You bled a bit. It's stopped, but it might start again," the boy said, and there was honest pain in his voice.

Krycek pushed away and sat up, despite the boy's protests. The pain split him, and Will jumped to his feet. "Don't move," he repeated. "Mr. Krycek, please. You could really hurt yourself."

Krycek grimaced. "Enjoyed that, did you?" he asked bitterly.

"No," Will said, and his voice sounded like he had been crying. "It's not supposed to be like that. It's just supposed to hurt 'cause the other guy cares about you, not 'cause..." Will ran out of things to say. Thank God, Krycek was already looking around for something to gag the boy. He didn't want pity.

It took four days for him to move without hurting. Will waited on him hand and foot, feeding him, bathing him, and stayed with him at night when he wouldn't sleep. Krycek woke up in the bedroom to the sound of the boy arguing with the smoker in the other room but Krycek couldn't hear the words. The apartment door shut, and the smoker came into the bedroom and sat down on the bed.

"Feeling any better?" the man asked, putting a hand on his rump. Krycek didn't turn around. The hand on him tightened. "I asked you a question."

"I'll live," Krycek said, keeping his voice flat. "Leave the boy alone."

"Getting attached to him, are you?"

"No. Leave him alone anyway." It wasn't a lie, or if it was it was a small one. Will was growing on him.

"You should use him more often, Krycek. That's why he's here."

Krycek didn't respond. He would, but he hated the cameras set up for all angles. He didn't want to know who was taping or dubbing them. The smoker waited for him to say something, and then removed his hand. "I have a job for you."

"I can't."

"Oh, yes. You can, Krycek. And you will. I can hurt you much worse."

Krycek sat up. "I can't," he repeated. It still hurt if he moved too quickly. Passing anything left him gasping in pain. He couldn't imagine taking another man in his body.

"I don't want you to fuck them. I want you to kill them. Tonight.

They'll be playing poker in a garage. It is important you kill them all. You might actually enjoy this one."

Krycek stood up. Killing was something he could do. "The usual payment?" he asked.

"Five per."

He nodded, and grimaced as he stood up. A simple murder he could do. He took the offered address and went down to his car.

He jimmied the lock in the back of the garage. It was a simple button lock, and it took him less than a second to pop the door. The three men who fucked him played cards under a cloud of smoke. He smiled, silently thanking the smoker for the gift. He stepped into the garage and cleared his throat. The conversation stopped as they craned around in the chair to look at him. "Seconds," one of them said, licking his lips, and then pushed his chair back.

Krycek shot him before he could stand up. The other two were so shocked they froze as the dead body slumped over on its side.

"Gentlemen," he said.

"However much they're paying you we can double it," the man closest to him said, and Krycek could see the sweat on his brow. His body shook, which made his chin jiggle. Krycek couldn't stay much longer; he took a risk even delaying it this long, but he wanted a moment longer.

"You couldn't pay me enough," he said, and pulled the trigger again. The man fell backwards in his chair. The last man jumped back, chair flying behind him and tried to crawl away. Krycek stepped on his ankle, breaking it, and then blew the man's head off. The blood splattered him, and he wiped his face off on his T-shirt before leaving the garage.

Will saw his clothing as he unlocked the door. Without saying anything the boy went into the bathroom and ran him a bath. "Why do you do it?" Will asked as he stripped off the bloody T-shirt and stripped off his jeans. "What does he have over you?"

"Nothing that would interest you, my little spy," he said, and stepped into the hot water. Krycek sighed and leaned back. Will began sponging the last of the blood from his face, but winced at Krycek's words.

"I didn't think he'd..." the boy began. Krycek waved off his words, not interested in more excuses. "Is it Mulder?"

Krycek grabbed his other wrist, not stopping the boy from bathing him. "I told you not to talk about him."

"I'm sorry," Will whispered. The sponge moved down his chest...hesitantly. Krycek leaned back, and closed his eyes, enjoying the caress. Will's hand dipped into the water, gathering his cock up. He considered almost drowning the boy to get a blowjob, but decided that would be too time consuming. He reared up, grabbed the boy, and pulled him into the tub instead.

Will squeaked in surprise, and they splashed a lot as Will managed to flip over and climb up to his hands and knees. Another moment and the boy managed to get a condom on him. The boy must have had it in his pocket, but Krycek never saw the foil package. Will was good.

Krycek forced the boy's soaked jeans down, and was inside him a moment later. Will grunted as Krycek hauled him back so that he could brace himself against the bathtub. The boy's body worked under him, and Krycek forced Will's head down into the water. His attempts to fight Krycek's hands made him thrash against Krycek harder. Krycek let the boy up, allowed him take a breath, and pushed him down again. Krycek never forced him down for very long, and he kept his hands loose enough so Will could push his way to the surface if he had to. It was a game, and they both got off on it. Will came first, loving the breath control. Krycek held his body down while he came, and then finished thrusting as the boy gasped for air.

"Thank you," Will said with a harsh voice. His face dripped with water, but he angled his body so he could kiss Krycek. Krycek forced his tongue into the boy's mouth and Will submitted to it. Krycek stayed in the kiss until his heartbeat went back to normal, and then left Will there.

He toweled off, but it took Will a lot longer to stand up. Krycek sprawled on the couch, turning on the television. Eventually he heard the boy drain the tub and mop up the spilled water. Will finished, and stood by him, once again hesitant. Krycek looked up and nodded. Will curled up between his legs on the sofa, and used Krycek's pelvic bone as a pillow as he flicked from channel to channel. The boy didn't snore, but he breathed heavily.

The next morning Krycek cleaned his gun at the table while Will slept. The boy woke up as he disassembled it, and stumbled into the bathroom. He emerged a minute later and dropped down in front of Krycek. He hadn't asked for a blowjob, but he didn't push the boy away. Actually, slowly drawing the rod up and down the gun barrel while Will went down on him with his slick mouth made his knees weak. He had to put the gun down half way through and force the boy faster on him. He slid down the chair and spread his legs. "Oh, Christ, just like that," he groaned.

Will pulled away for a second and wetly kissed his belly before taking him again. The boy was very vocal with the sounds he made in the back of his throat. Will used one hand to milk Krycek's testicles and with his other one reached down and tried to undo his jeans. He couldn't do it, and had to settle for rubbing the front of his jeans. Krycek grabbed the boy's ears and pulled the boy to his belly. Will didn't fight him as Krycek rapped his forearms around Will's head and fucked the back of his throat three times, and then emptied himself. Krycek's body flushed as he slumped back against the chair. Will backed away from him still on his hands and knees, and undid his jeans.

For the first time Krycek saw the boy act self-consciously as he half bowed his body as if to hide what he was doing. Krycek took a couple of deep breaths, did his jeans up, and motioned Will. "Come here."

Will stopped. "Mr. Krycek?" he asked.

Krycek lost some of his patience. "Will, it's okay. Stand up."

Will did so, using both hands to cover his cock. Krycek smiled, and dropped down to his knees in front of him. "Mr. Krycek, you don't...please," he said, and blushed as Krycek removed the hands. With full erection, Will wasn't much over five inches, and thin. Krycek had seen the boy naked before, but it never bothered him while he took what he wanted.

"Don't fight," Krycek said, smiling slightly. He licked along the boy's length. "I could order you to take this."

"You wouldn't have to, Mr. Krycek," Will said. He touched Krycek's head hesitantly, and when Krycek didn't push him away the hands became more insistent. The erection in his mouth was weak and the boy didn't last very long. He started spurting in Krycek's mouth as the door opened. Krycek couldn't see who it was, but it had to be the smoker. Will couldn't stop coming, but as soon as he did he pushed away from Krycek and went into the bedroom.

Krycek wiped his mouth off and stood up. "No one told you to do that," the smoker said.

"He's mine, I can do what I want with him," Krycek said and sat down. He finished cleaning his gun and reassembled it. The smoker obviously grew annoyed at the brush off.

"We need another job done."

Krycek tested the action and released the magazine before slamming it in again but didn't respond. There was nothing he could say. He didn't want to fuck any more but probably could have forced himself to. He was just tired of being a whore. Killing was one thing, but was tired of fucking around. He looked up, waiting for more information. "The marks saw one of our operations, Krycek. Kill them."

Krycek relaxed. Things were getting better.

He had been a fool to think so. The marks weren't men. They were a young woman and a three-year-old boy. He stared at the photo and then at the woman getting into the mini-van and realized he couldn't do this. Murdering men who brutally fucked him was one thing. He didn't even consider it to be murder. It was a job and he did it. This was different. He froze behind the wheel and shook his head but when she drove away he followed her. She drove to a two-bedroom bungalow with the fenced-in yard and small white dog. Krycek watched her unload her groceries from the back and he even considered getting out and giving her a hand. She seemed to have problems holding the two bags and the little boy. He didn't, in case she was under a different surveillance. Mulder was in his head again, and through the borrowed morality he realize he couldn't do this. Not to a woman--not to a child.

If for no other reason than the infant-conscience in his head that sounded like Mulder wouldn't let him.

The woman went inside and he watched her unpack the groceries through the kitchen window. He would have stayed longer but a dark blue Ford parked in front of the house on the other side of the street. Krycek slid lower down into the seat--it was Mulder and Scully. They didn't see him, or at least they didn't notice him as anything unusual.

Mulder looked better. Almost back to normal, even. He was smiling at something Scully must have said, and raised his hand to his eyebrow to see the house number out of the glare of the sun.

It hurt Krycek to see him. He felt like he had been punched hard in the gut, and he almost doubled over. Mulder didn't need him; he obviously wasn't moping around pining for something he didn't want or need.

Krycek drove away and stopped at the closest bar to the woman's house. He sat down and started drinking. Getting drunk was the easy part. It cut him off from his pain and by the time the bar closed for the night he almost forgot he hadn't completed his assignment.

He drove home. He shouldn't have, but he did.

"Krycek, you forced me to do this," the smoker said as Krycek stepped off the elevator.

Krycek stopped, frozen. He almost held out his hands out of self-defense. "I can..." he begun, but the smoker held out his hands.

"Don't bother," the smoker said. "It's over. I'd like to say the next time will be worse, but there won't be a next time. Consider this to be your final warning," the man said, and then stepped past him onto the elevator.

Krycek unlocked the door, and called for Will. The relief of hearing muffled whimpers from the living room almost overwhelmed him. Will was alive. Krycek winced and went into the other room. Barely. The boy lay bleeding on a plastic wrap over the couch. His entire body was either yellow, green, purple or black and he bled sluggishly from several lacerations across his back, buttocks and upper thighs. He either slept or was passed out but the occasional shudder crossed his naked body. He was a puppy separated from his mother and beaten for no good reason.

He also was a message; the smoker wasn't happy. Krycek touched the boy's cheek with the back of his hand and felt the unnatural heat to the boy's skin. It took a moment to analyze the feeling that tightened the back of his throat but Krycek settled on guilt. He hadn't beaten the boy himself but he might as well have. Will turned to his touch blindly and Krycek left him long enough to grab a bowl and fill it with hot water. He brought a sponge with him, and gently washed the boy. The sponge was soft, but it pulled at several of the scabs. Will started bleeding again but he didn't wake up. Krycek bandaged up what he could, and then carried the boy to bed.

The boy curled up and used his arm as a pillow. "Will, I'm sorry," Krycek whispered. Will didn't stir.

The coffee shop was busy. He had no real expectation of Mulder coming to it, but he couldn't go to the apartment and he had to see Mulder. Krycek nursed his Colombian. It wasn't hot any more, and if Mulder didn't come in the next five minutes or so he'd refill it.

The door opened again, and Mulder came in behind a young Japanese couple. Krycek stared at him over the mug, and it took Mulder a moment to realize someone was watching him. Mulder sat down across from him. "Looking to be arrested, Krycek? I could arrange a cellmate who's waited his whole life for you."

"I need your help," Krycek said, ignoring the insult. He met Mulder's eyes and wanted to reach out and touch the hollow under Mulder's cheekbone.

"Go to hell," Mulder said conversationally. "But thank you for telling me that."

Krycek lowered his eyes. "It's not for me," he said. "There's a boy who has to get back to Chicago. He stays with me and they are probably going to kill him. I can't take him and I don't know any one else I trust."

"What's the deal? You fucking him, Krycek?"

"It's not like that. He's just a kid and I want their claws out of him."

Mulder stared at him, and for a moment Krycek honestly believed that he would help. But then Mulder's eyes hardened and his lip twitched once. "No. Do I look stupid to you, Krycek? I'm not going to fall for you anymore so you throw a helpless boy at me? I don't think so."

"This isn't a ploy. The woman you went to see today. Her life is in danger, her and her son. Nice mutt in the front lawn. It would be a shame if something happened to them. Any of them," Krycek said.

"You bastard. You were there."

"She was my assignment. Notice she's still alive. They took the boy and beat him within an inch of his life."

Mulder leaned forward. "I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, Krycek. You'd enjoy it too much," he hissed, and then stood up.

He hadn't expected Mulder to help but the disappointment was strong enough to physically hurt. "Mulder, I..." he tried.

Mulder tried to walk past him but put his hand on Krycek's shoulder. It obviously startled Mulder enough that it stopped him. He reached up and caressed Krycek's cheek. Krycek knew it was an involuntary motion; Mulder looked shocked to have done it.

"Go to hell, Krycek," Mulder hissed, remembering himself. He didn't pull away his hand away for a long moment and left.

"I'm already there, Mulder," Krycek said.

Krycek put the gun into his jeans and got out of the car. He knew that killing the woman would probably be the worst thing he would ever do, but he knew he had to. He opened the door and walked the three blocks to the little house.

The house was tree lined, and the fence made it easier to sneak up on it. The lights were on and the warm glow from the windows made him sick. It was cold outside, cold and damp and dark. He crouched down, huddling lower in his jacket until the lights went upstairs and the house went into shadow. It would be easier for him if he killed them in the night. He didn't want their eyes opened to see this.

He pushed up to his knees and reached for his gun. At the same time, he heard the clicking of another gun by his ear. He lifted his hands slowly and waited.

"Don't move or I'll shoot you on your knees," Mulder snapped and grabbed his right hand. "Let you die the way you lived."

"Mulder, you can't do this," Krycek said. He tried to turn around and Mulder backhanded him across the ear. The pain was so sudden and on his cold flesh that it made him cry out.

"Shut the fuck up," Mulder hissed. The cuff snapped over his wrist was warm. He stopped fighting as Mulder twisted his arm back. "Yeah, they're familiar. Remember them?"

"You don't know what you're doing," he said, staring straight ahead. "Let me go."

Mulder didn't answer him. He tried to grab Krycek's wrist. Krycek waited for it and threw himself back before Mulder took it. The back of his head came in contact with Mulder's face, but Mulder had been moving away and it was just a glancing blow. He bolted scrambling away, but Mulder grabbed his ankle. Mulder yanked him back hard enough to pull his jacket almost over his shoulder blades. Krycek grunted flipping onto his back to kick with his other foot, but Mulder twisted his ankle.

Krycek almost choked out a scream and had to press his upper arm over his mouth to keep from making any more sound. "Hands behind your back," Mulder snapped, applying more pressure against his ankle. Krycek felt something tear. The pain made him gasp and stop fighting. Mulder didn't feel him giving up and gave the foot an extra little twist. Krycek didn't have any breath to scream with. "Now, Krycek, or I swear to God I'll rip it off."

Krycek put both hands behind his back passively. He winced as Mulder bent his knee back to lock up his other wrist and pulled him to his feet. The pain from his shoulder didn't take away any of the pain from his ankle. ''Move it," Mulder ordered.

Krycek tried to step on his bad ankle but it wouldn't support his weight. He almost collapsed but Mulder caught him. "I said walk," Mulder growled in his ear.

He glanced around, afraid that the 'real' police would show up and Mulder would be forced to arrest him rather than just torment him. He tried to take another step but the pain made him gasp. "Here," Mulder snapped. Krycek let the man support some of his weight.

Mulder didn't take him far. The alley...how romantic. "Get on your knees," Mulder demanded.

Krycek pulled away. "Mulder, don't. I'm telling you. I can't do this," he said, twisting to look around the alley. He didn't see anyone around but the consortium had found out about things before. "Please."

Mulder kicked the back of his knee and he dropped down to his knees. His left knee landed in a small puddle and the water seeped into the denim, cold and clammy. Mulder had picked a place between three garbage cans and a fence. Not much for privacy but they weren't out in the open. He didn't move from where he'd been placed. He didn't dare anger Mulder any more than he already had.

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Krycek? Of course I'd have to find you an audience to make it truly even."

Krycek tried to sit back on his heels, but as soon as weight came down on his ankle the pain jolted him up. "You don't have to force me, Mulder, that's not what I'm talking about. I can't be seen with you. Get these things off me and let me go."

"I let you go and it's to the police station for attempted murder," Mulder said, walking behind him. "Or are you just very happy to see me?" Mulder asked. Mulder lifted his jacket with his toe and kept his foot on Krycek's back while he pulled out his gun.

"I'll keep this," Mulder said and gave him a push. Krycek kicked out trying to stop his fall, banging his ankle. He swore viciously as his forehead hit the ground. He tried to struggle to his knees again, but Mulder stepped on his back and slammed him down again. "Where are you going?"

"Mulder, please," Krycek said, but stopped fighting. Mulder moved off him and pulled him up to his knees again. His throat was dry and breathing through his mouth made it worse. Mulder couldn't undo his belt and hold the gun at the same time, and it made him angry as he fumbled with it. Krycek jingled his hands behind his back.

"Take these off and let me help you with that. Put the gun down, you don't need it."

Mulder pressed the gun against his forehead, pushing him back far enough to make him fall back. Krycek grimaced as it put more pressure against his bad ankle. "Do you think I am going to give you a second chance?" Mulder demanded. "Do you?"

Mulder undid his belt and pulled down his slacks. Krycek sat up, pressing against the gun with his forehead, and parted his lips. Mulder forced the half-hard cock down his throat, grabbed his ears, and pulled him to his body. Krycek gagged out of a reflex action and tried to cough the cock out. It didn't work. His struggling thickened the cock in him, and Mulder groaned. Krycek tried co-operating, bringing his mouth up and down Mulder's length, but without his hands free he couldn't guide it into his mouth. Mulder's cock slipped out of his mouth, and he was cuffed for being clumsy.

"Bend over, Krycek. Brace yourself."

Krycek jerked as Mulder forced him down again. Mulder wasn't gentle as he pulled down Krycek's jeans and pulled them down. For a moment Mulder groped his cock and found him more than half-hard. "You slut," Mulder hissed.

There was no argument from him. There was no preparation from Mulder, either. Mulder pushed against his ass for only a second before his body opened up to take it. "Why, Krycek, you really are a whore. You've loosened up considerably. What have you been taking up here?"

It seemed like a rhetorical question. He almost wanted to answer it, but was afraid it might knock Mulder out of this 'romantic' mood. Or turn him on more, he thought as he grunted. The pain of freshly healed scabs being pulled open split him. He fell forward, pressing his cheek into the cold mud. It stunk of old garbage. He almost screamed but managed to control it by pressing his mouth into the mud. The filthy water filled his mouth, and he couldn't spit it out quickly enough. It felt like Mulder had covered his cock with razor blades and then shoved it inside him. He tried to crawl away from the pain but Mulder grabbed his hips and pulled him back against his body.

The new pain pressed against him, knocking the breath from his body. He tried to suck back air but got a lungful of water. He coughed, spasming, and Mulder rode him through it. Muddy water cleared out of his ear and he heard what Mulder grunted to him as they fucked, in the dark, in the alley. "You fucking bastard. Is this what you get off on? Is this what you want to do? No, don't whimper you slut. If you take if from your bosses you'll fucking well take it from me."

Mulder's hand moved from his belly to his groin, and gathered up his testicles. He pulled on them, squeezing them enough to really hurt. Krycek groaned again, and put his face back in the mud. His body wanted more despite the pain lancing through it. He felt like a blowtorch fucked him and he liked it. He wanted to stop thinking about how desperate that made him. This wasn't sex...it wasn't making love. It was fucking plain and simple, and Krycek knew how easy it was to fuck something he hated. For the first time in his life he felt cheap as well.

Mulder came, slamming against him violently but then softly milked Krycek's cock. The sudden gentleness combined with the cessation of the pain made Krycek come. He slumped down going boneless as Mulder pulled out of him and adjusted his clothing.

Mulder spat. The spittle landed on his bare hip and slid down his body. Krycek didn't move as it dripped down his body. He deserved that. It would please Mulder too much to inform him how much Krycek disgusted himself, so he stayed down and took it.

Then he remembered Will. The panic made him struggle back to his knees when all he wanted to do was stay in the cold mud and wallow.

"Where are you going?" Mulder demanded. He pushed down on Krycek's shoulders again, pushing him back in the mud. Krycek spit it out and pushed to his feet again.

"I have to go," Krycek said and rattled the cuffs. "Get these off of me."

"Why should I?" Mulder asked. His eyes were furious and his lips were tight, but beneath it all there was a lot of hurt. If this was all Mulder thought he had to do to get over his own rape he was mistaken. Krycek would have taken Mulder's head in his hands if they weren't shackled behind him. No, he wouldn't have, he corrected himself. He didn't have the time.

"I let you go and you'll kill my witness. I can't afford to take that chance." Mulder continued.

"You've already blown it, Mulder. She's safe from me," Krycek said, trying to break it down to things Mulder would understand. There were so many things that he didn't have a clue about. They wouldn't send him out again after he already failed once. Krycek found himself hoping that Mulder would never know. Never understand.

"How can I trust you?" Mulder asked. He sounded in pain. He was finally getting it. But Krycek still didn't have the time to discuss it.

"You can't. Mulder, the cuffs," Krycek said as no-nonsense as he could. Mulder still wavered, so Krycek played his trump card. "Right now your semen is seeping out of my ass," Krycek said, rattling the chains for emphasis. "How would it look for your career if I start screaming right about now?"

Mulder stared at him...obviously trying to decide if Krycek was that serious. Krycek took another deep breath but Mulder spun him around. He stepped on his bad ankle and almost fell but Mulder caught him. For a moment Mulder held him wrapped in his arms. Krycek sighed, pressing back as hard as Mulder held him. Mulder's lips touched his neck--he wouldn't' call it a kiss but Mulder's breath warmed his skin. He didn't want to move but Mulder undid the handcuffs.

"Don't go," Mulder whispered in his ear. "Stay with me."

"Mulder, I have to go," he said. His jeans were filthy as he pulled them up over his hips and the mud on his face began to dry and pull. He hesitated for a moment and then turned back around and kissed Mulder. "You don't understand."

He pulled away and Mulder let him go. He hobbled away, ignoring the shooting pain from his ankle. Mulder stepped after him. "Lean on me," he said, putting his arm around Krycek.

Krycek couldn't resist; the situation was just too ridiculous for him. "When you're not strong, and I'll be your--" he sang.

Mulder pushed him hard enough to almost knock him down again. "Not the time," Mulder snapped.

"The perfect time," Krycek said. He felt drunk--the emotional charge was that high. But he was still worried about Will and he couldn't stay any longer.

Mulder helped him to his car. Krycek unlocked the door and gingerly sat down. "Hey," Mulder whispered, touching Krycek's shoulder before Krycek closed the door. Krycek looked up, parting his lips. "I find you here again I'll shoot you dead. I swear it," Mulder added.

Krycek flushed. He started the car, but Mulder wouldn't move so he could close the car door. "And let someone look at that ankle. It's probably sprained fairly bad."

Mulder shut the door. Krycek pulled out his phone and was dialing before he pulled onto the street. Will answered it. "Hello?"

Will sounded groggy at being woken up and having the boy answer the phone ended some of the extreme panic he felt. He kept his voice gruff to hide the concern. "Meet me downstairs. Ten minutes. Get out of the apartment," Krycek snapped. That was one good thing about the relationship--Will would never question him. Bleed for him, die for him but the boy would never question him. But Will had answered the phone, interrupting his sleep, which meant he probably wasn't being torture to death. Krycek had been with Mulder for almost an hour. If the consortium found out about the contact they would have done something about Will right away. Maybe they didn't know.

As he drove up, Will was on the corner. He stopped at the curb and Will got out of the car, and the two of them almost made Krycek laugh. Between his ankle and Will's bruises they made a pretty pathetic pair. "Mr. Krycek?" the boy asked, studying him. "Mr. Krycek, you should go upstairs and have a shower. You're really dirty."

Krycek flipped down the visor and glanced at his reflection. The mud pretty much covered the left side of his face and only didn't cover his lips because it had already flaked off. And it stunk. Now that he had the time to pay attention to it his skin itched. Horribly. He couldn't go to the bus station like this. He might get arrested looking like he did. And the smoker hadn't come yet--which meant he probably wasn't coming. He relaxed a bit more and parked the car down in his stall because he couldn't find a spot on the street.

He got out of the car and called Will over to him. Being off his ankle for the drive made it tender to walk on. Some triple agent super spy whore he was. His ankle wouldn't support him at all. "Get over here," Krycek ordered. Will jumped out and ran around the car. "Mr. Krycek, what happened?" he asked, concerned.

"I fell," he said flatly. The boy hesitated, knowing Krycek was lying. But didn't question him any more. Will helped him to the elevator and then pushed their floor. "You're going to Chicago tonight," Krycek said as the boy looked to him confused again.

"I'm not going anywhere," Will said. His voice was wavering but stubborn. "You can't make me."

Krycek didn't answer right away. He took the time to backhand the boy across the elevator before clearing his throat. "I don't think you heard me the first time," he said. Will shuddered before pushing himself up to his feet. Krycek looked down at him and felt another twinge of guilt, but it went away as quickly as it came. It wasn't his job to make it easy for the boy. "I don't love you. I never loved you. You were nothing but a convenience for me," he said. The boy wouldn't look at him as the elevator dinged open. "Help me here."

Will moved to be his crutch. "I love you," Will whispered. "I don't care how you feel. I love you."

"Then you're a fool," Krycek said cruelly. "Unlock the door."

Will did so. He hobbled into the bathroom, pulling himself up to the counter before attempting to remove his boots. The dull pain flared up and he winced. "Let me do that," Will said from the door.

Krycek didn't look at him but held out his bad ankle. Will delicately began unlacing it and while the pain didn't get any better it didn't get any worse either. He lifted the boy's head with two fingers. The boy looked up at him for a second with his wide eyes over cheeks still puffy from the beating. "Why would you want to stay here?" he asked.

Will didn't answer for a minute. "Because I have to," he said softly. "The man...the john who hurt me...the smoking guy...he made things better...he hid the body. I...I...I can't leave."

Krycek stopped, but only for a minute. "And if you stay here you'll end up like me. Do you want that? Do you want to be borrowed out for your gun as much as your ass? You are going home, Will. I don't care what you think. This is for your own good, damn it, and you will obey me."

Will stared at him, but lowered his eyes instead of arguing any further. Instead he pulled off Krycek's other boot and it dropped down beside the first one. The jeans were next. Krycek stood up carefully and Alex worked them past his hips. He lifted his bad foot and Will gently helped him off with it. Krycek put his hand on the boy's head and hoped that would be enough to convey his appreciation. Will turned away and started the shower.

The boy knew his preferences for very hot showers. The warm water against his skin made Krycek close his eyes and just appreciate it. Will soaped up the wash cloth and worked over his face. Krycek kept his eyes tightly closed. Will cleaned off the last of the grime from his face and then kissed him with warm, soft lips. "Mr. Krycek...please," Will whispered. Krycek didn't open his eyes as Will's hand moved to his soft penis. The boy had conditioner or something in his hand because the touch was slick against his wet skin.

Krycek pushed away. "No," he said. Not so soon that he could still feel Mulder's fingerprints on his skin. Will pushed against him, whimpering, but Krycek pushed him away and turned off the water. By the time he levered himself out of the tub Will had found a tenser bandage. Krycek suffered through Will wrapping the ankle, but the boy surprised him with his skill. The ankle was still useless for walking on but it was immobilized enough to stop the accidental pains. He tried to flex it to see how much movement he had but the warning twinge made him stop. The one thing he liked about himself was he knew his limitations.

Will brought him fresh clothing and helped him with it. Krycek took

the boy's shoulder, hating how much he needed the assistance. But the

the businesslike manner with which Will handled his cock made him smile.

He didn't need Will to give him that much help but didn't stop the boy. Will gave him a friendly pat over his groin and passed him his T-shirt. "Are you sure you don't want a quickie?" Will asked, moving his hand up to Krycek's nipples. "I'm not asking you to hurt me...just let me taste you."

Krycek squeezed Will's hand. "No," he said, as gently as he could. It wasn't that he was interested, he just couldn't. He didn't want to see Will as a sexual object anymore. The bruises were reminders enough that the boy was a victim in this. He saw himself in Will and didn't want the boy around to make the same decisions he made.

It was easier to take the altruist higher ground than to realize Mulder wouldn't accept him again if he had a live-in sex-toy.

They hobbled down to the elevator. Will left him leaning against the wall for support and ran to go get the car. Each step was as if Krycek stepped on broken glass, and even the few steps to the elevator left him sweating. Any further and he wouldn't be able to stop the grunts. He would take Will to the bus depot and then go to a free clinic and have the ankle looked at. It was too bad he didn't have worker's compensation.

Will didn't blow up as he started the car. It only occurred to him after he saw the boy get into the car and start it that there might be a surprise under the hood for them. The car started easily and drove to where Krycek waited.

The elevator binged open behind him. Krycek turned and froze. "Mulder," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"The boy?" Mulder asked, almost deliberately not answering him.

Krycek stared, not letting Mulder get away with it.

"I followed you."

Krycek continued the stare, knowing Mulder found it uncomfortable looking at him when he was angry. They had fought over the remote and who got what for dinner enough times. The sudden memory tugged at him, and his throat went dry. This was the man he had pined over for weeks, and now he was so angry with Mulder he could spit.

"Is he your toy?" Mulder asked and saw the bruises on Will's face. "So, you give as good as you get."

He didn't feel like explaining himself, so he didn't. He motioned Will to give him the keys. Once Will was in Chicago they would have time to talk, but he didn't have the time right now.

"Why did you follow me?" Krycek asked, changing the subject. It was his turn for the mild guilt pains...he had been responsible for the beating even if he hadn't raised a finger. But he pushed it away. These new emotions were wrecking his control already weakened by the amount of pain he was blocking out.

Mulder seemed to take an emotional step back. "I...was out in the car. It took me a while to want to see you."

Oh, great. He was so damn tired of being Mulder's last temptation. "Why, haven't damaged enough parts to me?" Krycek snapped. He glanced down to his ankle and saw the pang of guilt cross Mulder's face. But then it was gone as quickly as it came.

Mulder grabbed his arm.

"Krycek...Alex, I'm sorry. Can we talk?" Mulder asked, lowering his voice.

Krycek turned to him. He took a deep breath. "Not now, Mulder. I have to do something first," he said, letting more emphasis fall on Mulder's name more than anything else. He didn't think they reached that level of intimacy yet.

"Now, Krycek. Please," Mulder whispered.

Krycek wavered. Mulder reached out and touched his upper arm. The contact was so warm he stopped for a moment. He looked at Mulder and hesitated. For once there was no ruse in Mulder's face; it was clear and open and hurting. Will's predicament became suddenly less important than having Mulder look at him without hate or scorn...but then by no definition of the word was he one of the good-guys. He didn't have to be noble and self-sacrificing. He opened his mouth to refuse again but realized he didn't want to. Will could wait.

"Yes," Krycek whispered. He could hear his heart beating in his throat and he couldn't look away from Mulder's hazel eyes. He felt lost or trapped and it didn't bother him at all. He reached out to touch Mulder's cheek and Mulder let him do it. The relief made him collapse against the wall.

Mulder stepped into his space. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Krycek couldn't help his smile. He didn't care that it probably made his face look goofy. "My ankle hurts like hell," he said but in that instant he really didn't feel any pain. In Mulder's mind they were equal, which meant at the very least they could start over again. Mulder still loved him. "Mulder, I...I'm sorry. I didn't...They--" he tried to say. Mulder pressed a finger against his lips.

"Don't," Mulder said. "Not here."

Will coughed behind them. Krycek opened his eyes remembering the boy. "Put the car back. We won't be needing it," he said. His voice sounded thicker than he remembered.

"Mr. Krycek?" Will asked, glancing at Mulder. The boy's eyebrows almost touched. Will's disapproval almost made Krycek smile.

"Put the car back," he said again. Mulder didn't move from blocking Krycek into the wall. Krycek rested his wrists on the man's shoulders and leaned forward into him. Mulder kissed his neck.

Will went to the car. "The boy is nothing, Mulder, I swear it. He's just a..." Krycek couldn't think of the word to use. "They gave him to me. I was sending him home."

Mulder shook his head, but if he had planned on verbally forgiving him, the words never made it.

Both of them heard the car door slam and the squealing of the tires. Krycek reached for his gun that wasn't there. He forgot Mulder took it from him and hadn't given it back. The black van swerved down the street access ramp, stopped long enough to grab Will, and drove around the corner.

The side door slid open and the smoker pressed the gun farther into Will's skull. "Get in the van, Alex," the smoker demanded. Krycek shuddered; the smoker hadn't called him that since he had locked Krycek in the apartment.

"Let the boy go," Krycek said, not moving. "Let him go and I'll go with you."

"We are past you giving pathetic ultimatums, Alex. Get in the van now or I will blow his brains out. You're in the splatter-zone. Do you think his skull fragments will taste any different from a corpse you didn't know?"

Will cringed, but only whimpered. Krycek went to take a step but Mulder grabbed his arm. "You're not going anywhere," he said. "Let the boy go."

The smoker took the gun off Will for a second and pointed it at Mulder. "Alex, you try me. Do you remember the last time you tried me?"

Krycek pulled Mulder's hand off his arm. "Yes, sir," he said dutifully. The smoker pressed the gun against Will's neck. The boy half dangled out of the van. Krycek stepped forward to take Will's hand, and the smoker grabbed his wrist. The actual exchange only took a second. The smoker pulled him into the dark interior and pressed his face into the dusty cheap carpet and it almost made him sneeze. The door slammed shut and the smoker pressed harder against his shoulder blades to keep him down. Krycek twisted, trying to keep his face out of the dust, and saw they weren't alone. A man dressed in khaki pushed the rear window open.

A gun fired once...paused a moment, and fired again.

"No!" Krycek screamed. He pushed up, all but knocking the smoker off him. He had to see it, had to see the bodies.

"Do you really want to see them, Alex?" the smoker asked, almost gently. He froze for a moment. "Do you want the last thing you ever see to be his dead body?"

Krycek froze, and then slowly slumped to the ground. He couldn't figure out how his entire body could go numb and still hurt as much as it did, but he didn't want to see it. He wanted to rend everyone in the van. He wanted to feel the smoker's throat between his teeth and drink the man's blood. He wanted to curl up into a ball and never move again. He wanted to cry.

He wanted to cry, but couldn't. Wouldn't. Not before he killed the smoker. That was far more important. He reared up again and almost made it up to his hands and knees before the smoker brought something against the back of his neck. He heard a crunch before the pain knocked him through the floor. He fell spinning downward.

He was asleep in the middle of a bad dream. Only he knew it was a bad dream. He dreamt he lay face down in a van with the smoker stepping on his shoulders even when he was obviously asleep. There was something though...something he wanted to remember but he didn't.

The van slowed down and stopped. The smoker's foot between his shoulders rocked back with the tires and the door slid open. Somebody pulled at his feet. He was interested in a vague sort of way, but it didn't involve him.

Not until the slap. Pain knocked him out; it woke him up again. Mulder. Christ...they were dead. He slumped forward, not wanting to think about it. The second slap kept him from that. He looked up, and through the splitting headache calculated the distance between him and the smoker.

The smoker pressed his gun against Krycek's ear. "Don't even think about it. Get up."

Krycek did so...but he was so angry his body shook. The smoker grabbed him and threw him against the van's side. Krycek groaned as the back of his head was slammed against the siding. He let his head roll to one side as the gun pushed into his neck. "You want to kill me, don't you, Alex? So bad you can taste it. Open your mouth, you whore."

Krycek gritted his teeth that much harder. The smoker smiled at his actions, and then rammed his head back again. He coughed out a groan as the dull thudding pain became acute, but didn't open his mouth.

"You were in, you bitch. Do you understand? You were one of us. I accepted you. You could have jumped through your last hoop. But you couldn't stay away from him. You had to sniff after him. I hope you enjoyed it, Alex. I hope you came so hard your balls felt like they would fall off," the smoker snapped, and then grabbed his groin, squeezing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. "Did you?"

"Yes," Krycek hissed, still keeping his jaw together. He had, and he would again. He met the smoker's eyes with the challenge he felt. He was unrepentant about it...why shouldn't he be? He was a dead man any way. "And god...the way he fucked. The earth moved," he drawled, pouring the salt on. He let his eyes drop down to the man's body and smiled.

The smoker lashed out, catching him over the eye with the pistol butt. His skin split and the blood ran down his face, spilling in quick droplets onto his T-shirt. He bent forward, holding his hands over his face, but the smoker knocked him back against the van.

For a long moment the smoker didn't say anything, and Krycek heard the man breathing through sick lungs. "Then you won't mind this so much. March," the smoker said finally, moving back. He motioned forward with the gun.

"I can't," Krycek said...not so brave suddenly. He licked his lips and tasted the copper on his lips. He had just dug his own grave and suddenly wished he had been quiet.

The smoker aimed the gun down. It went off, and Krycek jumped as the clod of dirt hit him an inch from his good foot. "Guess where the next one goes. It isn't far. March, Alex."

The smoker made a very good point. He took a step and gritted his teeth. The pain lanced up and down his leg from his toes to the small of his back. Krycek could hear the sound of marbles rubbing against themselves as he walked. He tried to distance himself from the pain from thinking about Mulder but the hurt was in every corner of his mind.

The smoker was right; it wasn't far at all. They were in a forest--Krycek wondered how long he had been knocked out in the van. As he walked past the small shrubs the drops of water landed on his jeans. His sneakers soaked through quickly and he started to sweat.

He saw it and he stopped. He hadn't dug his own grave; the smoker had done it for him. It was shallow enough. It couldn't have been more than three feet deep but six feet plus long. The smoker prodded him forward, but Krycek's knees wouldn't move. The fear overrode everything, the hate, the pain, the grief, the loss...everything. It was his upturned dirt in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't breathe. "God, no. Please. Anything," he whispered.

The smoker prodded him again. "I would have just shot you, whore. But you pushed me too far."

Krycek shook his head, unable to understand what the smoker said, and then the meaning slowly crawled to him. He knelt down before his knees buckled. He moved his mouth like a fish out of water. "Anything. I'll do anything," he said, meaning it.

"Not this time, bitch. Get in the grave," the smoker said, lashing out.

Krycek took the kick to his belly without moving. If they were going to bury him alive he wasn't going to make it easier for them. The smoker noticed it, and flipped him on his back. He touched his ankle to the ground and tried to roll on his side. The smoker wouldn't let him. The man stepped on his thigh, holding his left leg down, and pressed the gun against his groin. The new pain stole what little breath he had, and while his hands tried to push the barrel away from his cock the smoker compensated by pushing down even harder.

"Are you done?" the smoker demanded.

Krycek shook his head, unable to breathe.

"Do you know how long it takes to bleed to death from having your cock blown off?" the smoker demanded, jabbing him again. He was enjoying this.

Krycek looked up feeling more like a wounded animal than a man. He opened his mouth to say 'please,' but nothing came out. He coughed instead.

"Neither do I. But I'm willing to bet longer than it takes to suffocate. If you don't get into that hole we'll both find out if I'm right or not."

Krycek shook his head, unable to imagine how horrible the death would be. Begging wouldn't help. But he couldn't believe he would willingly lie down and wait for death. It was better than the alternative, at least.

The smoker moved behind him. "How do you want your last minutes to be, Alex?" he asked, deceptively sweet. "Tell me. Do you want to die as a man or as a whimpering castrated bitch?"

Well...put it that way. The smoker gave him a moment to gather his breath and let his testicles descend again and then nudged him. Krycek flipped over to his belly and crawled the rest of the way to the grave. It had been dug a while ago. Or at least there was two inches of water at the bottom of it. He splashed as he landed in it, and remained on his hands and knees for a second when he heard the three men move to the side of the grave.

The panic and fear crippled him, and he could feel his bowels loosening. He clamped his muscles closed and tried to get a grip on himself. He wouldn't give the men the satisfaction of knowing he couldn't control himself. He'd die, but he'd die intact. He didn't want the last thing he saw to be muddy water reflecting grey skies above him. He turned around and lay on his back. Ironically the cold mud made his ankle feel better at least.

The first shovelful of earth landed on his belly, and he had to wonder about himself. He couldn't understand what was so great about his life that he would be willing to live through this terror just to give him an extra moment or so of life...it was all he could think of. The dirt was heavy it was so waterlogged, and smelled of roots and rotten leaves. When he was a child he used to run through parks that smelled of his grave.

He really was losing it. He opened his mouth to beg, but couldn't. Not that he was too proud to, but he couldn't make a sound. Frozen vocal cords. He'd killed several people who had the same expression on their faces. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.

The second shovelful covered his neck and face. He smeared it away, not wanting anything to get between him and the grey sky and the barren tree branches he saw. He'd heard of men surviving hours buried alive in loose packed soil, but this stuff was too wet to do anything but drown him. This really was it.

Two of the men had ineffectual snap-together snow shovels that came in kits for winter driving. But one of them thought ahead and brought a real spade. It gave him an interesting pattern to be buried in. Spat, spat, plunk. Spat, spat...he was. He was going crazy.

"Please," he said. The word startled him and he didn't know if he said it out loud. Some mud caught him in the face and plugged up his ears. He hadn't even been aware of listening to the late season birds chattering or the wind stirring empty branches until the sounds ended. Sans ears, sans eyes sans everything. Was that right? No, there was something about sans hope, how could he forget that? His high school English teacher would kill him if he misquoted.

Fuck Shakespeare. He tried again. "Please don't do this." How pathetic was that? How many times had he heard the same thing...a dozen...more? Less than a hundred. He hoped it would be less than a hundred. And how hot would the lake of fire be? He should have listened to his father more. Which would he burn in hell for more? That he sucked cock or that he killed more people than he could remember? He was good at both. He liked both, if he was to be honest with himself. Until Mulder.

Mulder. Christ. The guilt again. He didn't want to die feeling guilty. He wanted to die remembering how good it was to have the man casually touch him as he passed to get something from the fridge. Blowing him just because Krycek had looked like he needed it. The first tear slid down his filthy cheek for Mulder. If he had known the prelude in the alley would imitate how he would die he would have enjoyed the rough sex that much more.

But the shoveling stopped. He looked up as some of the filthy water ran into the recess his head had made. He moved so that some of it trickled into his ear and then cocked his head aside. Some of the mud cleared...enough for him to hear the shouts.

Shouts? He'd take any rescue he had. "Help!" he screamed and it hurt his throat, had he been screaming all the while? Maybe...his mouth was dry enough. "For Christ's sake help me!" he said, not taking the Lord's name in vain. He really meant it. The pocket of sound burst in his ear and he was back to the frantic blood running through his veins and his hoarse breathing. "Help," he said again, weaker, and settled down again. Death or salvation, which ever found him first.

Mulder poked his head over the edge. Mulder? Krycek tried to sit up but he was covered in too much heavy mud. "Mulder?" he asked, and tried to shake the mud from his ear. His body started to shiver...or again, maybe he just became aware of it. Mulder offered his hand. The mud made a huge sucking sound, protesting giving up its prize, and then Mulder pulled him free. He put the smallest amount of weight on his ankle and he sobbed, it hurt that much. He collapsed to his hands and knees unable to stand any longer.

Two men were dead. The driver and the man in khaki lay in a heap together. The smoker was gone, so was the van. His brain couldn't take all of this in. He took a deep breath and thought he'd start with the most obvious.

"You're dead," Krycek stated. Breathing in a normal fashion helped calm him down a lot.

"I got better," Mulder said, and helped him up. Krycek remembered putting his hand on the car door before passing out again.

He came to just outside of a free clinic, where they wouldn't ask any questions about his filthy clothes and now completely buggered ankle. Mulder noticed he was awake and then took a deep breath. "They shot the boy. Twice. I'm sorry, Krycek," he said quickly.

It didn't make the words any easier. Will was dead, and the ringing in his ears was back. Bloody hell. Even the boy's death was an afterthought. Krycek lowered his head. Will deserved better than dying in a car park. The boy knew nothing that was a threat to the smoker; it was just petty--his way of tying up loose ends.

And to make Krycek think the smoker had killed Mulder before he died...which reminded him. "Where is he?" Krycek asked.

"Who? The boy? Taken care of."

"Not Will. The smoker. Two bodies...he wasn't one of them."

"I let him go," Mulder said and stopped outside of the emergency. "Come on."

"You...what?" Krycek demanded.

"I let him go. He had something you gave him, I had something he wanted."

"You...left me down there while you bartered with him?" Krycek demanded.

"I knew you were alive."

"You....left me down there?" Krycek demanded again, paring it down to the simplest core.

"I needed him to state his intentions," Mulder said.

Krycek stared at him, unbelievingly. "I was bait," he said.

"No more than I was to you," Mulder snapped. The hospital attendants stared at them from the door, wondering what they were doing.

Krycek tried to come up with the words that would describe how horrible being buried like that was to him. How it encompassed his only real fear he had in life. How he begged for a bullet rather than the slow torture, but realized Mulder wasn't in the mood to hear it.

"I'm not your harem boy," he said instead.

"What?" Mulder asked.

Krycek had spoke quietly enough that he didn't know if Mulder didn't understand him or didn't hear him. He repeated it louder. "I am not your harem boy," he snapped.

Mulder still looked at him blankly. "You don't treat me like that. No one does. I'm not your whore any more," he clawed for the car door and pushed himself up. His bad foot touched the ground and he fell, skinning the palms of his hands, but he welcomed it. He'd rather fall on his ass a hundred times before asking Mulder for help again.

Not that Mulder was around to help him. The agent leaned over to shut the door with a bang and drove off. Krycek watched him go blankly before letting himself be helped into the wheelchair.


	3. Rats and Cages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krycek heals inside and out, and realizes what happens when something just isn't enough.

The nurses scraped off enough mud to realize Krycek wasn't going to die right away, and wheeled him into the waiting room. The man next to him looked too thin to still be alive and had purple lesions on his neck. Krycek stared at them, as the man pulled his blanket closer to his body.

"You look like hell," the dying man said.

Krycek tried to smile, but the mud pulled at his face and flaked off. He felt like hell too. His entire leg throbbed with his heartbeat. He tried to pull away from the pain, distance himself from it, but his mind was too tired to separate. He closed his eyes and he could feel the wetness seep around his leather jacket to his shirt and then across his back. He jerked awake, moving his ankle, and cursed the pain shot up and crippled him.

"I feel like hell," Krycek said. But he didn't, not any more. The pain would go away through drugs or time, but he was free of the smoker. It had been worth it, even if it cost him Mulder. Mulder never had been his from the beginning.

A blond man, beautiful and graceful, fought through the broken bodies in the plastic chairs to return to the side of the man with the blanket. He passed over a white paper cup full of water and put his arm around the frail shoulders. He looked up and saw Krycek stare and then dipped his head to his lover's ear and whispered something Krycek couldn't hear.

It made him sick, that much affection in front of him. He'd never again open himself up to that much pain. He shifted back in his seat and winced again as it almost felt like his ankle wasn't going to move back with the rest of him.

Finally a nurse came to bring him to one of the examination rooms. A curtain brought him some degree of privacy, and he almost nodded off before the curtain moved again. An older woman doctor with her grey hair. She looked him up and down and then nodded. "Let me see it," she finally said after consulting her chart.

Krycek winced as she cut the denim away. "What did you do, two-step on this?" she asked, pulling back to wash away some of the mud.

He didn't answer. He suffered through the X-rays, but almost passed out as she set it. The strips of warm cloth felt pleasant against his skin in the beginning, but as it dried it began to itch. He took the 'scrip from her, paid for the crutches, and got the drugs from the closest drug store. A cab picked him up outside of it, and he went the one place they would never look for him.

Krycek went home.

His mother's house was off in the suburbs. It didn't have a white picket fence, but the lawn was well manicured enough to make up for it. The shrubbery was dormant for the winter. He didn't think he could handle hobbling up the walkway if everything was green and flowery.

The house itself was smaller for the plot it was on, plain and functional. The pale green and white paint could have been re-applied, but it wasn't dingy at all. Krycek rang the doorbell.

His mother answered the door. She stared at him without recognizing him for a long moment before pressing her hand against her mouth. "Alexei?"

Krycek nodded. She reached out and touched his cheek. He wanted to pull away, hating to be touched even by his mother, but was afraid of toppling backwards over the step. "Alexei, what are you doing here?" she asked.

Her voice was thick with her accent. "Momma, may I come in?" he asked. He hadn't meant to call her that. He just felt exposed outside. He wanted to take the drugs in his pocket and go to sleep.

She realized she stood in his way. Krycek shuffled inside, and she closed and locked the door behind him. "You're filthy," she finally said.

Krycek touched his hair and it was crusted with mud. "I...uh..." he didn't know what to say.

Nor did she care. The house hadn't changed since the last time he'd stood in the hall. He left when he was seventeen. He hadn't been back, not even for his father's funeral. He had found out the old man had died four years ago. The only man he'd ever wanted to kill, and Krycek was in Canada the day it happened. He hadn't gone to the funeral. He hadn't been invited. Peter, his older brother, had wrote a letter that had eventually made it to him, but the envelope had been in tatters and the letter soiled by the time it arrived.

Krycek followed his mother to the peach bathroom on the main floor. The cloying smell of flowers assaulted him, and she lowered the toilet seat and motioned him to sit. Krycek lowered himself down, and winced as his jeans slipped on the fluffy seat covering and banged his ankle. The pain was sudden and overriding, and the single Demerol pill did nothing to shelter him from it.

He took out the too small vial with shaking hands, and managed to spill half the tiny white pills onto the floor mat. He cursed, and saw his mother cross herself. "I'm sorry, momma."

She bent down, and replaced all the little pills into the vial. She took one out, turned on the tap, and filled up the peach tooth mug with lukewarm water and gave them both to him. He swallowed the water greedily, not caring that it splashed down his front, and then rested against the back of the toilet. The second pill dissolved slowly in his stomach, but it boosted the first one he took only an hour ago. The pain moved away from him, leaving him only with the pleasant numbness.

"Off with the clothing."

Krycek opened his eyes, startled, and hugged his jacket to his body. "What?" he asked.

She reached over, probably just to touch his hair, but drugged and tired and broken, Krycek couldn't control his reaction. He flinched, ducking away. Her hand froze, and then deliberately touched his mud-flaked hair. "You need to wash," she said.

Krycek shook his head; he was too tired. She tugged at his jacket, and he relaxed his shoulders enough so that it slid off him. The shirt took more tugging, and he winced as it jarred his ankle. She hissed as she saw the scars over his body. "Alexei...what happened?" she asked, fingering the knife wound that had fascinated Mulder so much.

He shook his head, rocking forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The dried mud on his back itched now that he was aware of it, and his hair was thick and standing straight up. The nurse had wiped his face off, but everything below his chin was still filthy. The grit in the jeans scraped against him with the rise and fall of his chest from breathing.

He heard the water running without turning his head to watch. His mother left for a moment, letting the water run in the sink, and returned again with her heavy sewing scissors. The sharp blades had a tough time cutting through the grimy material. The cast never would fit over his thigh. She stopped only once to turn the water off after it filled the sink. He turned his head and stared at the steam rising up and fogging the mirror rather than at his mother's embarrassment over having to touch her faggot son so intimately. She had left him his shorts, but wouldn't even look at him as she touched him gently.

She washed him as quickly as she could. The dirt became mud again once the water touched it, and it took effort to clean it off him. She didn't speak, and besides her hissing sounds she made when she uncovered another scar, the bathroom was quiet except for the slow drip from the tap. When the furnace turned on, they both jumped.

There was so much he wanted to say, but it wasn't the right time for it. He opened his mouth to speak once, but she pressed one of her fingers against his lips and hushed him. Krycek closed his eyes after that, and concentrated on the warm touch of the cloth rather than the chill from the clean damp skin.

The furnace kicking on again woke him up. Krycek hadn't even realized he fell asleep, but when he woke up his face was against the bathmat and his leg throbbed in agony. He bit his tongue to keep from making a sound, but from where he curled up on the bathroom floor, he couldn't reach his jacket. He stretched out, cursing again as he moved his leg. The ankle felt detached from the rest of him, and the bones shifted against each other, even with the cast on. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it back to him and went through the pockets until he found where his mother put the pills.

He shook out two, glanced at them both, and rolled one back into the bottle. The escape of both of them would be sweet, but he couldn't afford to let himself pass out like he just did. The single pill caught on the back of his throat, and he had to hack and force himself to swallow almost a dozen times before the pill dislodged. Even then he could taste it. He curled up and waited for the drug to catch up to the pain.

Half an hour later he felt well enough to try to sit up. Gripping onto the toilet and the bath he managed to relieve himself before his mother returned and did it for him. His hair felt clean and soft against his fingers, but he couldn't recall his mother washing it.

The door opened as Krycek didn't look as his mother came in baring a pair of old blue sweats and a white sweater. His lip twitched, but it was cold wearing only his shorts. His mother's reflection in the mirror showed she didn't look up as she placed the clothing over the sink and turned to go.

"Momma, wait."

She stopped, almost raising her eyes. "Help," he said, motioning the pants. His face heated up at the mortification, but his ankle ached and he didn't want to sit down on the toilet and jerk it around to get a pair of pants on.

She nodded, rolling the pants up. They had already been split to make way for the cast. It took a moment of sweating and cursing to get his good leg done, but Krycek felt better pulling on the drawstring.

"Breakfast, Alexei," she whispered, and then raised her hand again. Krycek almost controlled the flinch as she only patted his cheek. "Your father's razor is in the cabinet."

She left him alone again, and he pulled on the sweater. They must have been Peter's; the sweater hung off him. His father's things, even the four-year-old half-used roll of Tums, were in place. Krycek shaved quickly, hating the smell of the shaving-foam. It reminded him too much of his father.

His body hurt from sleeping on the floor of the bathroom, and no amount of rubbing his freshly shaven cheek changed the pebbly texture from the carpet. He took a deep breath and stared at the faded bruises on his face. He needed a place to hide while he healed. This was as good as any hole in the dirt. Better, even. The smoker would assume he'd go underground again and look for him there. Krycek needed time to think.

He hobbled to the table. His mother wore her robe, tightly belted over her nightgown as she stood with her back to him buttering the toast. He must have heard him with the crutches on, but she buttered the same slice three times before she turned to him.

He almost spilled the cat dish that was against the wall. "Petsuyona?" Krycek asked.

She glanced down, as if shocked to see a cat dish by her feet. "Petsuyona died three years ago. This is Coshka's."

He nodded, awkwardly. She motioned him to sit and put a full plate of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns and toast in front of him. She sat down across from him with only a cup of coffee.

He didn't feel like eating, but she looked so stricken as he just pushed the food around. Her face relaxed as she took his first healthy bite of the eggs. He ate slowly, knowing she wouldn't want to talk while he was eating. He suddenly wanted to take the second pill and slide away, but couldn't afford to.

"Alexei?" she asked, once he put his fork down.

"Just Alex, momma," he said, looking at her. He couldn't ask her just to call him Krycek, but anything but that hated name. Alexei sounded too much like a girl's name growing up, and he might have gotten away with the way he looked without being saddled with the name.

She suddenly noticed the way he looked at her coffee cup, and got up to pour him one. He wrapped his fingers around the too warm mug and took a moment to inhale the smell of it. He looked up to see her staring at him. "Alexei was your father's father name," she protested.

Did she honestly think he'd forget that? It had been beaten into him enough times. She looked up to a picture of his father on the wall in the living room, visible through the open archway between the rooms. Krycek looked away. He didn't want to see his father, or the dozen or so of Peter in all his stages of development. School photos, graduation, college, med school...Peter was the perfect son. Krycek briefly wondered if he should send his mother the picture of his first kill, but put the moment off to the drug barely keeping the throbbing from his ankle down.

"I know that, momma. But I use Alex now," he said. Or at least the men who use me do, he thought.

She shook her head at the betrayal and for a long moment neither one of them spoke. "Alex...why are you..." she bit her lip instead of continuing.

"I need a place to stay," he said, looking at her. Daring her to refuse him. She couldn't, and he knew that. He was part of her responsibility, and even though she probably would have preferred him dead to him sitting at her kitchen table, she'd take him in.

She nodded. Her face was expressionless, like all the times she had let herself into his room and put the bags of ice onto his back after the beatings. They never talked about that, either. "Have you called your brother?" she asked, instead of the other dozen questions she wanted to ask.

He shook his head. "I don't want him to know I'm here."

"He's your brother."

And Peter had spit 'Cossack' at him just as hatefully as his father had when he had said he was joining the FBI. "I don't want him to know," he repeated.

"Are you still--?" she asked.

He looked at her, "Still what, momma?" he asked, masochistically.

She lowered her eyes. "A policeman," she said.

He shook his head; that wasn't all she wanted to know. "Sort of," he said.

She nodded and stood up. "Alexei...Alex, your room is upstairs," she said.

Krycek nodded, and followed her after a moment's struggle. His room was the first door on the left, but other than the bed itself, everything was different. Nothing from his childhood had remained. He looked across the hall to his brother's room and saw the trophies and the posters exactly the same.

He carefully lifted the cast up onto the bed as he lay down. The perfect hiding spot--a place where he had already been erased.

# # #

His mother avoided him over the next three weeks. She provided him with food and helped him with things he couldn't manage on his own, but didn't talk to him any more than she had to. Krycek kept mainly to his room and slept a great deal of the time.

By the third week, the cast annoyed him. The skin under the fiberglass itched horribly and it smelled badly. He began to feel caged in, and spent a lot of time staring out his window to the backyard and the rusted swing-set in the back.

His mother came in, carrying a tray with supper. She set it down, and turned to go. Krycek stopped her. "Momma?" he asked.

She froze, not turning around. Krycek closed his eyes, for a moment, and then tried again. "Would you sit with me?" he asked.

She joined him on the bed. "Would you look at me?" he asked, in the same tone.

She looked up, like Krycek was trapping her here. It answered all the questions he had. He'd look for a place to stay tomorrow. "Never mind. Go."

She stood up, and Krycek went back to staring at the swing set. "Your father..." she began.

Krycek looked up at her. She put her hand over his head for a moment, and brushed the too long hair from his forehead. "Your father loved you," she said, finally.

Krycek wanted to snort. "He had a funny way of showing it," he said, moving his shoulders in the remembered pain.

"You were his little mush," she said, and then left him.

Mush. Mouse. How did his father know Krycek would grow up to be a rat? Krycek took his last pill and swallowed it down with the orange juice. He ignored the rest of the tray in favour for more sleep.

It was dark out when she knocked on his door again. She looked at the still full tray, and almost didn't say what she wanted to. He turned around as best as he could without moving his ankle, and waited.

"There's a man downstairs to see you," she said.

The fear flared up in him. He didn't know where his gun was, but then remembered he hadn't brought one to the house. "Who did you tell I was here?"

"No one."

Krycek struggled with his crutches. "Who did you tell!" he demanded, and for a moment he wanted to throw her against the wall.

She flushed, looking at the carpet. She wouldn't have told anyone, she'd be too embarrassed. "Stay up here," Krycek said.

"Alex..." she began, but silenced at his face.

"I said stay up here," he said, staring at her. She nodded.

There was only one staircase, and it ended in the entranceway. There was no way to sneak down with his crutches, but then Krycek knew if it had been the smoker or one of his cronies, his mother wouldn't have been sent to collect him. He took the stairs one at a time, slowly, and saw the Armani suit first.

He would have preferred the smoker.

He stopped half way down the stairs. "What are you doing here?" he asked, coldly.

"Looking for you," Mulder said.

Krycek almost turned around and went back upstairs, but that would have left Mulder in his mother's house. He should have known Mulder would find him, but it made him feel vulnerable that Mulder knew him that well. "How did you find me?" he asked.

"The I stands for investigation, you know. I didn't think there would be that many Krycek's in Washington."

"Why?" Krycek asked, leaning heavily against the padded foam under his arms.

"I guess it's is an unusual name."

Krycek started to turn around. "I had to see you," Mulder called out.

"Why?" Krycek asked again.

Mulder didn't say anything. Krycek sighed. "I'm glad you're here," he said, finally.

Mulder's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't say anything. "You can take me," he said, coming down the rest of the stairs. It was dark outside, but Mulder had parked his Crown Victoria under a street lamp.

"Krycek?" Mulder asked, as Krycek made it to the base of the stairs.

Krycek looked at him, letting Mulder see how little shit he was willing to take. "You are taking me to the grave," he informed the man.

Mulder shook his head, but didn't say anything as Krycek continued his glare. Mulder caved first, taking his keys out of his pocket.

It wasn't until they had left the city that Mulder spoke to him again. "Did I do that?" he asked, motioning the cast.

Krycek nodded. He didn't feel like shielding Mulder any longer.

Mulder opened and closed his mouth several times, looking for the words. Krycek decided to prompt him. "You're sorry?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"I didn't mean to--" Mulder began, but then halted again.

"'Now, Krycek, or I swear to God I'll rip it off,'" Krycek quoted from memory. "You did mean to. You just lost control."

"I...I'm sorry, Krycek. I...wanted to arrest you...get you away from him. I didn't know--"

Mulder turned off the freeway to a secondary highway, and from there onto a private road through the trees. Krycek stared out his window and pointedly ignored Mulder. Mulder took the hint and shut up as well. The rest of the ride was done in silence.

Mulder angled the car so that the headlights cut down a cutline. "There are flashlights in the trunk," he said, getting out of the car. Krycek was a moment later, but set off down the path without waiting for Mulder. The particles of moisture from the low fog danced in the yellow light of the beams and within seconds, his shoe got soaked. He didn't want to think what the moisture was doing to the cast.

Mulder caught up to him, holding both of the flashlights. They didn't speak as Krycek walked to the grave from memory.

It was still unfilled, but had at least a foot of water in it. He stopped, leaning against his crutches, and took the flashlight from Mulder's hand. He shone it in the pit, and shivered again, remembering how cold it had been. He looked up, shining the light on the few branches that covered the sky, and then went back to the hole in the ground.

"Krycek, I..." Mulder began.

Mulder wanted to know what it was like to be him. He was trying to do his profile thing again. Krycek gave Mulder what he wanted. "Get in."

Mulder froze. "What?"

"I said, get in," Krycek said, motioning the grave with his flashlight. "Now."

"No!"

Krycek reached out and grabbed Mulder's tie. He pulled the man's face within an inch of his, which was absolutely ridiculous because one solid push would have toppled him over, but Mulder didn't fight him. "Get in the grave, now."

Mulder looked at him, and then slowly nodded. Krycek released him, and Mulder jumped down into the cold water. Krycek was wrong, there was only about nine inches of water collected. "I'm in," Mulder snapped.

Krycek nodded, and then turned around and started back for the car. He heard Mulder splash around, trying to crawl out, and then run to catch up.

# # #

Mulder stopped the car outside of his apartment. "Come upstairs with me," he asked, turning off the engine.

Krycek looked at him. "No," he said.

"I did what you said," Mulder began, softly, as if trying to control his anger. "I thought..."

"Thought what?" Krycek snapped, once it was clear Mulder had given up on the sentence. "You thought that makes us even? Fuck you, Mulder. You don't have a clue what that was like. You left me down there."

Mulder didn't try to stop him from hobbling down the street.

# # #

He took a cab to a rooming house seven or eight blocks away. The cabbie knew the owner and assured him it was the cleanest unit with the biggest rooms. Krycek doubted that, but was too tired to care. He gave a false name, paid in cash for a week, and lay down on the bed. It smelled of smoke but he was too tired to let that bother him.

A month later, Krycek drove back from going to see a movie. He had left half way through the ridiculous comedy because his leg started to ache sitting in the chair, and he felt too out of place sitting in the audience full of laughing people. He hated the time he had on his hands. He didn't know what to do with it all. The smoker had kept him busy enough so that the few days off he had were spent alone, and that was enough. But in the two months he had done nothing, and it was chewing him apart. He hated being alone with himself.

Money wasn't a problem. He had sold his soul at premium pricing, and probably wouldn't need for money for a very long time, but that wasn't the point. His leg started to itch and he scratched it absently, just glad that the cast had been off for a week. The relief of being able to rake his nails across his skin made his skin flush.

He stopped for a red light and saw the whores standing on the side of the street. He glanced over to them, out of curiosity, and then on impulse, rolled down the passenger window. He made eye contact with the darker haired girl dressed in the obligatory silver mini-skirt and red and white halter top, and she came to his window.

They stared at each other, and the woman snapped her gum, once. "You a cop?" she asked, suspiciously.

"No," Krycek said, and then realized he had never picked up a prostitute before. Even when he was for sale they had never haggled over prices, but he didn't think she'd be going for his usual rate of four or five thousand.

She obviously realized she was dealing with a first time john. "Listen, sweetie. Fifty for a blow, hundred for a fuck, and you pay for the hotel room."

The light from the other side turned yellow. His would be green any second. "Get in," he said, and she opened the door. "I have a room."

"Even better," the woman said. Krycek watched the road rather than her. She was probably in her mid-twenties. He could smell the perfume she wore, and the smell of a woman under that, and it didn't turn him completely off. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"First time, honey?" she asked, putting a hand on his upper thigh. He brushed it off, coldly, and she kept her hands to herself. "There's nothing to be shy about. Lots of guys burn off steam. You have a fight with your girlfriend?"

Krycek found a parking spot half a block from his boarding house. "Don't talk to me," he said.

She nodded, but Krycek caught her staring at him. When she got out of car, a nervous bounce replaced the swaying hips. He didn't look at her, and she almost had to run to catch up to him.

His room no longer had the bareness it had when he first took it over, but it was still sparse. The dresser was now filled with jeans and his t-shirts, and the three sweaters he purchased hung up in the closet without a door. A bottle of Southern Comfort sat on the bedside table, but it was still within three inches of the top. He hated drinking alone. Two K-mart glasses sat next to it, but only one had been used.

The prostitute looked relieved that the room was so ordinary. Krycek moved to the bed, and unscrewed the lid to the bottle, sitting down next to the bed. "Take off your clothes," he said, turning on the light and sitting down.

She hesitated, but only for an instant. She reached behind her and unzipped the skirt, and she stepped out of it. A moment later the halter-top joined it. He stared at her breasts, up to her serviceably pretty face, and waited for the arousal. There was none. She only looked pathetic, standing there naked yet still holding her purse.

"This is weirding me out. Give me the money," she said, holding out her hand.

He had no desire to cheat her out of it. It must be a tough life. At least when he fucked for money the smoker knew who he was with, and Krycek never went with anyone without his gun. Any one who damaged him had to answer to the smoker, so the only pain he felt was momentary. This was just dangerous.

He stood up, and reached for his wallet, taking out two notes. "I want you to turn around," he said, putting the bills on the table.

She took out two condoms and a roll of KY jelly, "You want some help?" she asked.

"I've done it before," Krycek said. He took them from her, and motioned her to turn around again. He didn't want her watching this. She stood with her legs spread as undid his jeans. It had been over a month since his last time, and other than a few sticky dreams he hadn't felt up to even jerking off. He touched his cock, delicately, but other than a slight stirring, the present stimulus didn't help. He closed his eyes instead, angry with himself that after all Mulder had done to him, all he had to do was think about the man and he was hard. Mulder against the wall, Mulder waiting for him like that...

He moved behind the woman, pushing inside her. She wasn't as tight as Mulder had been. He shifted, grabbing her and fucking her hard. She grunted, once, and then moaned as his fingers dug into her hips.

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the grunt. Oh, God, Mulder. He pressed his body against her, feeling the orgasm surfacing and hating the fact that it was because of this whore and not what he wanted. Mulder didn't smell like this and he didn't feel like this. Krycek bit down on the whore's shoulder. Mulder didn't taste like this, either. He sobbed, throwing his head back, suddenly not caring about the difference. He slammed her against the wall hard enough that she lost her balance and moaned as her cheek hit the cheap wallpaper, so Krycek took an extra step forward so he could finish it.

He came, hard enough to shake his body. She stayed still under him, but her body trembled under his fingers and against his chest. He backed away slowly, taking off the condoms and throwing it away.

The whore stayed by the wall for a long moment, and then slowly bent down to pick up her skirt. He glanced down and realized he had been fully dressed the whole time. It was the first time he had been in that position of power to have someone completely naked while he was dressed. He never realized how much power that gave him.

He went back to his glass as the woman finished dressing and took the bills from the bed. She went to speak, but Krycek motioned the door with his chin. "Just go," he said, taking a gulp from his glass. He didn't want her in his space any longer.

She nodded, and left him alone. She walked gingerly, and Krycek stunned himself by feeling a moment of sympathy for her. He shook his head. Better someone else than him. Never him again.

The next day he tried the same thing with a rent-boy, but he couldn't follow through. He had the guy up against the wall, but the blonde's body language was too familiar. He paid the boy off, and grabbed his car keys.

Mulder looked stunned to see him. He stood in the doorway, having actually knocked for the first time, but Mulder wouldn't move out of the hall to let him pass. So they stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak first.

Finally Mulder must have realized Krycek was still in the hall. He moved aside and Krycek stepped into the apartment and closed the door, leaning against it. "I never asked for my key back," Mulder said, finally.

Krycek took it off his ring and offered it. Mulder stared at it for a moment, and then turned away without taking it. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'm good," Krycek said. He reached into his pocket and took out the handcuffs. Mulder heard the clink of the metal and turned around in time to catch them. He only caught it out of reflex, and stared down at them like he'd never seen a pair before.

"Put them on," Krycek ordered.

"Why, we expecting company?" Mulder asked.

Krycek turned to go. Only the sound of the cuffs tightening made him stop. Mulder had both hands behind his back, and a moment later the second cuff locked closed. "Now what?"

Krycek froze, not prepared for actually having Mulder give himself over like that. It took a second for him to speak. "Up against the wall," he ordered, tripping over the first word. "Now."

Mulder had that stupid smile on his face, like he was indulging Krycek this game. Krycek's cock didn't give a fuck if it was being indulged or not, all it wanted to do was bury itself in Mulder and drown. His button-fly jeans were torture to undo, and he cursed as he had to take a moment to yank down Mulder's slacks. "What's your hurry?" Mulder asked, wincing as Krycek's nails scraped down his thighs.

Krycek whipped out the lube from his jeans, squirting more than he probably needed and coated his cock. His hand was almost too much for him. His knees went weak, and he made himself think of the smoker while he applied the jelly. That worked.

Mulder waited for him, spreading his legs wider in an almost exact copy of the whore from last night. Only this time there was no hesitation. Mulder relaxed against him, but the man was still so tight against him, he gave up and had to work Mulder open with his fingers.

"Relax," Krycek whispered, working one finger in. His impatience wanted him to force things, but Mulder making purring sounds made Krycek regain some control. Two fingers slid in, working the muscles open. What a difference from the whore. The jelly provided a moment of protection against Mulder's heat, but then warmed to their surroundings.

The slick entrance against his slick cock was like sliding his hand into tight fitting kid-leather glove, but a thousand times better. There was no resistance to him, but the muscles held him securely. Krycek groaned, the whore forgotten about. "Krycek...Alex...please," Mulder whispered, rocking against him. "Don't just stand there."

The use of his name stopped him, but only for a moment. Krycek withdrew a little way; Mulder's bound hands made it impossible to press himself back to chest, but as he thrust against Mulder a second time, Mulder's hands roamed over his belly.

"Tell me what you want," Krycek growled. He trusted Mulder enough to brace himself so Krycek could lean back and let go. He had to close his eyes; the sight of Mulder leaning with his shoulder against the wall, cheek pressed against it as well, voluntarily manacled for what ever Krycek wanted was too much. Nothing in his own mind measured up though.

Mulder opened his mouth, the tension in his jaw made Krycek's own ache out of sympathy. No sound came out; Mulder was past that stage. Krycek reached around the man, wrapping his fingers around Mulder's cock, but before he did anything but apply slight pressure on the base, Mulder screamed and came, pumping into Krycek's hand as much as he could with his awkward angle.

Mulder's thrashing was too much. Krycek ignored the fingers pressing into his stomach as he thrust a final time, buried as deep into Mulder as he could climb before shuddering to his climax.

Trust Mulder to ruin the mood. "You do have keys to this, don't you?" he finally asked. He hadn't moved away from the wall and his mouth was slightly distorted.

Krycek pulled away, stripping off his sweaty clothes. By the time he made it to the shower he was already naked. "Left jacket pocket," he called.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Mulder followed him in. "Krycek--"

"You called me Alex before," Krycek said, stopping.

"I'm sorry," Mulder said. Krycek stepped past him to where his jacket landed on in the hall.

"Don't. I liked it," he said. For the first time, he liked it when someone called him his real name. It sounded so...right. He got the key and unlocked Mulder, but stepped away as the man tried to cup his chin. "Don't touch me."

"Krycek--"

"I said, don't touch me," Krycek said, going back into the shower. "Not yet."

"What do you mean, not yet?"

"I mean don't touch me," Krycek said, shouting to be heard over the water crashing over him. Mulder didn't join him. He really didn't expect him to. Mulder didn't love him enough, didn't know him enough to know what he wanted.

There was no safety here, only a warm, semi-willing body. Mulder didn't understand anything. He finished scrubbing off the last of his sweat and dressed again. Mulder didn't look up from the couch.

"Are you coming back?" Mulder asked.

Krycek stared at the back of his head. "Not if I can help it."

"You can't help it," Mulder called back. "No more than I can."

Krycek left without answering.

# # #

He was asleep when his phone rang. The only person he gave the number to was his mother, and for a moment he thought it might be easier to let it ring. He lay on his back, ignoring the second ring, but then realized it had to be an emergency for his mother to want to call.

"Yeah?" he asked, letting the covers slip down his chest. The cold air pricked at him and made his nipples harden.

"Alex," the smoker's gravelly voice caused his stomach to drop back against his spine. "You're a hard man to track down. Was it something I said?"

Krycek jolted up, but saw the chain across his door and the deadbolt across the door was still horizontal. He slowly got out of bed, keeping down so he wouldn't make such a shining target, but saw nothing that wasn't there the night before. The sky was just beginning to lighten up, and the fog created halos around the yellow light of the streetlights and the red neon from the motel across the street.

"Where are you?" he asked, not expecting an honest answered, ducking back against the wall. "How did you get this number?"

"You think you're so clever, don't you. Who the fuck taught you, Alex? Who took you under their wing, nurtured you, loved you--"

"Don't give me that," Krycek snapped. "You wanted me for my ass and we both know that."

"You used to enjoy it," the smoker said. His voice sounded upset, but Krycek didn't buy it. "The one thing I couldn't give you."

"I'm hanging up now."

"No, you're not. Do you think Mulder understands you more than I do?" the smoker asked. Krycek heard the sound of him leaning back in a leather chair. The man's breathing changed. He was touching himself.

"You sick bastard. You tried to kill me."

"I was losing you."

"You've already lost me. I'm gone."

"For how long?"

Krycek couldn't believe he was still on the line. But he couldn't quite make his fingers reach up and push the end button.

"How long?" the smoker continued. "You have money now, Alex, but how long is it going to last? Can you live off it forever? When it runs out, and it does run out, Alex, what are you going to do? Will you live off your lover? Will Mulder support you while you stay home and cook him breakfasts? Decision time, Alex."

"I'm not a whore anymore," Krycek whispered. "Not his and not yours. Leave me the fuck alone."

"You don't want to fuck around, fine, Alex. Like you said. We have dozens of people willing to fuck stumps. Come back. Let me take you in as you deserve to be used. An equal, Alex, one of us. The way it would have gone if you hadn't fallen for Mulder."

Krycek closed his eyes. "You made me."

"I made you for this. That was just a detour. He doesn't love you, Alex. Why can't you understand that? He doesn't know you. He doesn't understand you. Not like I do."

The smoker was repeating himself, to make Krycek stay on line for the trace. Shit. Krycek hung up, snapping the phone shut. He checked his watch, but didn't note what time he answered the phone. They might have had enough time to find him.

He smashed the phone against the headboard and grabbed what few clothes he had gathered over the month. He almost left the bottle behind, but went back to grab it. He had paid until Saturday, but they couldn't trace him through the cash or the false name.

He drove aimlessly for a while, and then stopped at an all night gas-bar to fill up. It was self-serve and he had to wash the smell of gas off his fingers. He bought a cup of coffee and drank it before realizing what he had to do.

Mulder looked up as he let himself in to the apartment. "I told you you couldn't help yourself."

"Get changed," Krycek said, going into Mulder's bedroom. He took out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

"A new type of kink, Krycek?" Mulder asked from the door.

Krycek stepped up to him. "Don't fuck with me," he growled. "Put the fucking clothes on and get your fucking ass out to my car."

"Your idea of foreplay sucks," Mulder muttered, but modestly closed the door as he changed. Krycek paced outside the door until Mulder emerged.

The tight jeans and T-shirt robbed him of the dignity his suits provided. He looked younger, more vulnerable. Krycek nodded his approval. "Come on," he said.

"Where?"

"I'll tell you when we get there."

Mulder followed him down, moving self-consciously in his tight clothing.

Krycek took Mulder to the bar of one of his johns who didn't mind paying thousands of dollars for a blow. Daniel was a weird one, but he was filthy rich and no idea who the smoker was. The smoker used Daniel as a reward for Krycek for years. Whenever Krycek came back from a difficult job the smoker would always let him go to Daniel. A blow and a fuck later Krycek would walk out with a stack of bills. For a guy like him, whose parents weren't rich, it was amazing.

Mulder knew something was wrong, but didn't ask Krycek anything. He sat where Krycek told him, drank what Krycek gave him, and passed the time drumming his fingers on the glass bottle.

Daniel spotted them shortly after entering. "Alex," he said, holding out his hands. Krycek stood up reluctantly, and accepted his weak hug. Daniel tried to kiss him, but he kept his mouth shut and Daniel's tongue flopped around Krycek's lips for a moment before giving up. "You've been so long away. I've been thinking you forgot about me."

"Daniel," Krycek said, trying to keep warmth he didn't feel in his voice. "You know that's not true. But I bought a friend."

"The two of you?" he asked, excitedly, glancing over Mulder.

"No," Krycek said, sadly. "Just him. I'm out of the business. I thought that if you like what you see it might be the start of something."

"I don't know," Daniel said, waffling. Mulder's expression was priceless, Krycek wished he had a mirror. Mulder looked up at Krycek, horrified as Krycek motioned Daniel to approach. Krycek glared back at Mulder, and Mulder looked down. Mulder wanted the truth about Krycek, and this truth had a price. "Is he any good?"

"One of the best," Krycek said, ignoring Mulder's alarmed expression. He looked up, pained, but Krycek shook his head. "Want him?"

Daniel stepped over to him. Mulder froze, and the pained look became panicky as Daniel touched his hair, but Mulder did nothing to stop the caress. With a shock Krycek realized he couldn't stop this. This was Mulder's way of getting inside Krycek's head, and he wondered how far Mulder would go with it.

"How much?" Daniel asked. "I'm not paying him what I pay you."

"Half," Krycek said, holding out his hands.

They shook on it.

Mulder stood up and followed Daniel to the back office. Krycek had deliberately chosen the table so he had a clear view of the back room. Mulder tensed as Daniel put his hand on the small of his back, and guided him into the small room. Krycek finished his beer, put money down to cover it, and stood up in time to see Mulder run from the room to the back door.

Krycek followed a moment later, leaning against the building as Mulder finished vomiting up his lunch. Krycek moved next to him, taking some of the weight off the shaky legs. "I thought I could do it," Mulder said.

"I know," Krycek said, condescendingly. "Takes more strength than most men have to get down on their knees in front of another man."

"How do you do it?"

"Years of practice," Krycek said.

Mulder didn't speak again as Krycek drove him home. He stopped outside, waiting for Mulder to get out. "Come up," he said.

Krycek turned off the engine, trying not to let his hand shake. Just being in the apartment was his safe house. Mulder unlocked the door and Krycek prowled the small apartment, trying to see all the changes. The biggest goldfish was gone, and two little red ones had taken their place. Mulder had vacuumed the couch, too.

"Everything the same," Mulder said, moving up behind him. "I haven't changed anything."

Krycek moved his head forward as Mulder kissed the base of his neck, but then he pulled away. "No," he said.

"No?" Mulder asked, not reaching for him. "Alex?"

"I don't want you to touch me."

Mulder looked at him for a second, and then turned around and braced himself against the wall. Krycek's mouth went dry at the offering. "Drop your pants," he said, letting his voice go husky.

Mulder unbuckled them and kicked them away, and spread his legs. Krycek went to him, taking himself out. He rolled on the condom, worked Mulder's ass open with his fingers, and then slid inside him, slowly. The heat of the man engulfed him, and his back broke out in sweat. He didn't speak; he was afraid that if he began to speak his mouth would run away from him, telling Mulder things he didn't want Mulder to know.

This didn't mean anything, Krycek reminded himself as he drove himself further into Mulder's body. He could fuck with Mulder, but none of this was touching him. Still, when he wanted to grunt, it came out as a sob. Mulder's body tensed around him, gripping onto him as Mulder came. Krycek couldn't fight it any more. He fell against the body under him, trusting Mulder to keep them both up until he could recover enough to pull away.

Mulder didn't move as Krycek pushed back and went into the bathroom. He scrubbed his skin, punishing the too sensitive nerve endings. He considered getting dressed and leaving, but toweled off and curled up in Mulder's bed instead. Mulder never came in to check on him.

Half way through the night he woke to the door closing and locking. He sat up, groping for the light, and startled as Mulder came in, mud caked from head to toe. The cotton in his brain stopped him from understanding completely, but then slowly understood that Mulder had gone to the grave. Had lain down in it.

Mulder didn't say anything. Krycek moved to the edge of the bed, and suddenly Mulder knelt in front of him. Krycek tried to push him away, but Mulder wouldn't let him. Krycek didn't particularly want his dick sucked, but Mulder wasn't doing it for sexual gratification. He patted the caked mud in Mulder's hair absently, and then lay back, letting Mulder work through what he was feeling.

Wet kisses finally touched his belly as Mulder moved up. "How did you do it?"

Krycek sighed. He moved so that he joined Mulder on the floor, and began taking off Mulder's filthy clothing. "I didn't tell you about my first time," he said, keeping his voice clinical.

Mulder shook his head, and then helped Krycek take his jacket off. "The smoker brought this stranger to where he was keeping me. I never even knew his name. He held my legs apart and fucked me. I had no idea anything could hurt that much."

Mulder stopped what he was doing and looked at him. Krycek reached out and touched his cheek. Mulder understood the evening, and his eyes widened slightly. "Everything else they did didn't hurt that much. I wouldn't let it. I was stronger than they were."

"It was so cold," Mulder said for the first time.

"You need a shower."

"I hadn't thought it would be that cold. Or that quiet. The mud got in my ears."

"Come on," Krycek said, standing up. He pulled Mulder to his feet and took him to the shower. Mulder stood docile for it, and after the shower was over, returned to bed with Krycek. They didn't do anything but sleep, but Mulder's heartbeat soothed him.

The perfect life lasted two days. For two days Krycek was able to relax in Mulder's apartment, pretending that everything was going to be okay. Mulder shattered that the second night over dinner.

"So now what?" Mulder asked.

"Movie or video?" Krycek suggested. He didn't really want to go out, but would if Mulder wanted to. He carried his dishes to the sink, and hesitated, as Mulder didn't answer him. "Mulder?"

"So now what?" Mulder asked again.

Oh, shit. Mulder wasn't asking about the evening or the weekend plan. It was the question he had been dreading.

"So now what, what?" he asked, sitting down again. Mulder went to take his hands, but Krycek pulled them back. "Don't do this, Mulder."

"You have to think about it."

"No, I don't. And I won't, so just drop it."

"You can't stay here and pretend everything is going to be perfect," Mulder said. "What are you going to do for a living?"

Krycek stood up. "Do you want me to work at K-mart? Be a red-light special announcer?"

"It's blue-light special."

"I don't fucking shop at K-mart, Mulder."

Mulder was silent for a moment. "Maybe you could be a security guard."

Krycek almost laughed. "A what?" he asked.

"Help me out here. If you testify--"

Krycek jumped up. "What?" he demanded. "Fuck you, Mulder."

"Krycek--"

They were back to Krycek now. "What's in here belongs to me," Krycek said, tapping on my temple. "You can't have it."

"Krycek, for what you know--"

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, suddenly feeling dead.

"You could put them all away," Mulder said, quietly.

Krycek stood up. "You're a fool, Mulder," he said, and walked out. Mulder ran ahead to catch his hand, but Krycek shook it off. "I thought you understood."

"I do!" Mulder snapped. "Krycek--"

"Leave me the fuck alone."

Mulder grabbed him. "Okay, it's dropped. Just--"

Krycek kissed him to shut him up, but then he went to bed and didn't pretend to wake up after Mulder joined him. Mulder put his hand on Krycek's upper arm, questioningly, but he rolled over and buried himself deeper into his pillow. Mulder took the hint.

The next morning, Krycek woke up to Mulder moving around the bedroom getting dressed for work. "Good morning," Mulder said, leaning over to kiss him. Krycek kissed him back, but knew Mulder was already late for work.

"I'll be home early tonight. Wait for me?"

He nodded. Mulder kissed him again and left him.

All day, Krycek did nothing. He paced the apartment until noon, and then went down to the coffee shop down the street just for something to do. He even found himself looking at the classifieds for something to do, but there was nothing there that could possibly interest him. He envisioned himself in the blue smock coat, and the thought scared him, but there was nothing else he could do. Assassins weren't advertised for in the Sunday paper.

And Mulder would never forgive him for taking jobs on the side. On a relationship based on a lie and built up from there, Krycek knew Mulder wouldn't forgive him this. It angered him that he would even think like that. Three months ago he wouldn't have given a flying fuck over what Mulder thought of him, and now it was his primary moral compass.

He was losing who he was, and that terrified him, too. He stood up, leaving his coffee half drunk, and spent the rest of the day in the park, letting the rattle of the leaves blow across the cement walks calm him down.

Mulder came home only moments after he did. Mulder moved behind him, reaching down and running his hand over his thighs. "You know I love you, right?" he whispered.

Krycek leaned back into him. "Yes," he said. It was five o'clock and that was the first word he said all day.

Mulder didn't back away. "Today was hell," he said into the back of Krycek's neck. "I just want to forget about it."

Krycek moved away from him, already filtering out the list of complaints that followed. As they sat down for supper, Krycek stared at the man across the table from him. Mulder didn't even seem to mind that he wasn't paying any attention. This was bad. This was very bad. This was Krycek as an emotional dumping ground. He listened to Mulder, nodding sympathetically when he had to, but Mulder was too self-absorbed to notice the lack of attention given.

Krycek ran across the busy street, avoiding the bus and letting the taxi go ahead of him. He took out forty dollars from the ATM, and checked on his balance. He wouldn't need for money for a couple years, but eventually it would run out. The thought nagged at him, but he had never worried about anything for longer than six months. He could be dead and buried long before the balance worked its way to zero.

A cold, sinking feeling radiated out from his belly as the door opened. It was a moment too late; the bank was closed and the only other exit had the smoker in it. His palms itched to reach for his gun, but the mirror behind him had a camera in it.

"Don't panic," the smoker said, calmly.

"Fuck you," Krycek responded.

"Alex, I'm not going to do anything rash, and neither are you," he said, glancing up to the mirror to make his point. A young couple opened the door, but the smoker turned smoothly to them and informed them that the machine was out of order.

Krycek started pacing, careful to keep in view of the camera, knowing it was his only protection. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I told you. I want you to come back to us."

"Fuck you," he repeated.

"Come, Alex. Surely you are not deluding yourself into believing that everything is going to be fine between you and Mulder, have you? Has he asked you to testify yet?"

Krycek turned away without answering. "He has. The fool. You know what is going to happen if you open your sweet mouth to him, don't you? I'll bury you both out there. Him dead, you alive."

"I'm not going to testify," Krycek said, rubbing his face. The sudden exhaustion surprised him. "Why me?"

"You're the best. I need you. The country needs you, Alex. Don't let Mulder's misguided attempts at the truth blind you to the real issues here. You are a patriot."

"I'm not a whore," Krycek snapped. "No more."

"No more," the smoker agreed, "You get to pick your assignments. You'll be my right hand, Alex, I swear to you."

Krycek pressed his knuckles against his forehead. "Fuck with me, old man, and I'll kill you," he said.

The smoker nodded. "No more fucking, I promise you."

"And Mulder?"

"Mulder will be safe from us. He'll continue to root around in the dark and you'll come back with me."

"I didn't say that! I'm out, I'm free!"

The smoker took a step forward, and out of instinct, Krycek jumped back. "I'm giving you what you want, Alex. You won. If you think fucking with Mulder is worth fucking with your future, I'll leave you and you'll never see me again," the smoker said, and then pointedly glanced at the bank machine. "I can't see you in a nine-to-five job, Krycek. And if Mulder can, he doesn't see you at all."

The smoker reached into his pocket, and Krycek jumped back. He only pulled out business card. "Call me here."

Krycek stayed away. The smoker shrugged, and put the card on the floor before leaving him alone. Krycek stayed in the bank for ten minutes, and then retrieved the card from the floor.

He wasn't selling out. He was just maintaining his options. It only felt like selling out because of Mulder's influence.

He didn't drive home. The ache in his ankle returned, and he drove out of the city to the gravel road. It was daylight out, like it was the day the smoker took him out here to die, and that made it harder.

He stared down at the empty grave, now looking more like an innocent hole in the ground. He didn't know what he had come out here for, but once he stood there, feeling the cold wind blow down his neck, he couldn't help the shivering. The smoker had wanted him dead. He was a fool to even be considering his options.

Damn it, love was supposed to be enough.

With a chill that had nothing to do with the wind, he realized it wasn't. The smoker and Mulder had both tried to change him, but he wasn't either one of their ideals. Mulder wanted too much of him. He couldn't give Mulder what Mulder wanted. He wouldn't give the smoker what the smoker wanted.

Fuck them both.

He took out his wallet and threw it in the grave. Let the smoker or Mulder find it, he didn't care. He left the car parked on the road; he didn't need it anymore either. The walk back to the main highway took him most of the afternoon, and it was almost dark before the first car picked him up, but he didn't care about that, either.

He was out.


End file.
